


The Witch's Isle

by lunarhold



Series: One Piece Book of Nonsense [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Blood, Reader-Insert, Smut, Very Mild Violence, and it's like a paragraph long, it's animal violence but nothing graphic, witch!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarhold/pseuds/lunarhold
Summary: An island that appears only once a year, in the most random of locations, and somehow they manage to find you. They must have some good luck.
Relationships: Iceburg (One Piece)/Reader, Iceburg (One Piece)/You, Rob Lucci/Reader, Rob Lucci/You
Series: One Piece Book of Nonsense [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474418
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. A Devil of a Time

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really have anything to say about this, besides shameless smut. while writing these i also realized i tend to avoid prompts that involve multiple characters so i'm working on that. anyway, enjoy!

“Iceburg, Iceburg!” The shouting of his name was accompanied by frantic banging on his office door. Iceburg looked up from the massive stack of paperwork on his desk towards the ruckus. He had been avoiding it for the better part of a week, much to Kalifa’s annoyance. Things had finally grown to the point where it couldn’t be ignored anymore, so he had been forced to buckle down on it.

Now, though, he had a new distraction.

“This sounds terribly important, Kalifa,” he said, and before she could open her mouth to argue, he had called them in.

The door flew open and two men-- from Dock 6, if he recalled correctly-- tumbled in. “Iceburg, you have to come quick. An island appeared.”

Well, that wasn’t what he expected to hear.

“An island, you say? Well, you had better show me,” he said, standing up from his chair. It had now become more than wanting to get out of work. How does an island just appear out of thin air? He didn’t doubt what his workers were saying, but he certainly had to see it for himself.

Along the way, the Dock 1 foremen joined up with them, wearing their usual scowls. The Dock 6 men must have passed along the message in order to get up to see him more quickly, and the foremen had taken it upon themselves to accompany him. They were no doubt the best option for the job anyway.

A crowd of citizens had gathered at Dock 6, all clamoring for a glimpse of this mysterious island. As Iceburg and the foremen approached, though, attention diverted to them. They were pelted with the usual praise, and questions about the island they couldn’t possibly know the answers to.

The crowd parted for them, until Iceburg stood at the gate and turned back to face them.

“My foremen and I intend to fully investigate this mysterious phenomenon, and will return with news shortly. Until then, I would ask you all to remain here where it’s safe while we determine the danger this island poses,” he called out, hoping to settle them down. While it was odd to speculate that the island itself could be a danger, it stood to reason that there was something wrong with it, and it wouldn’t do them any good to have a bunch of curious people wandering around while they were trying to scout. There was general acceptance, and calls of good luck, and he turned back to the massive gates of Dock 6, his thoughts already miles away.

* * *

You knew, from the moment your island had settled into the other plane, that this time was going to be different. In your usual custom, you had gone to the top of the highest tree, having long ago built your own sort of crow’s nest, to see if you had appeared near any type of civilization. It was much quicker than hiking to the nearest shore, to be sure. 

This time, though, you had appeared just a few miles off the coast of a stunning city. A sense of melancholy filled you as you watched the shimmering waterfalls pouring down from a massive fountain at the top. You enjoyed your solitude and had no interest in the throngs of noisy, pushing people that no doubt inhabited the island, but you couldn’t help longing to see it. But you supposed someone from the island would come investigate, and maybe they could be of some help.

As if you had summoned them, there was a ripple across the island as a group of people crossed the magical barrier surrounding the island. Your heart leaped into your throat as you scurried to the ground and half ran towards the beach they had landed on.

Optimism was tempered by caution; there was no guarantee they would be friendly. It wouldn’t be the first time you had had to defend yourself from dangerous people.

Still, it had been so long since you had seen any other people, you were more than willing to take the risk.

The beach came into view. From the tree cover, you could see a group of seven-- six men and a woman.

It took only a second for someone to look your way, a handsome man with long, curly hair. Even though you swore he couldn’t see you, it still seemed like he pinned you with a blank stare. The hairs rose on the back of your neck as a blond man also turned to look in your direction, though you never saw the handsome man’s mouth move.

In the blink of an eye, ropes were wrapped around you, binding your arms and legs and dragging you from your cover. Panic flared, your magic reacting in an instant. Blue flames leaped from your skin, licking up the length of the rope.

You were free in seconds and gone in less.

Iceburg turned to watch the debacle, sighing as you ran off.

“Paulie, that wasn’t necessary,” he said, walking towards where you had been hiding. There was absolutely nothing there to indicate you had been there in the first place, let alone where you had gone. The foliage was pristine, the grass not even crushed underfoot, like you were a ghost.

“Did you see that though?” Paulie asked, coming up next to him. Iceburg could see the sweat beaded on his brow, and the fear in his voice told him it wasn’t just the heat getting to him. “She lit on fire, her whole body. That ain’t normal.” He held up his ropes, showing the singed, frayed ends off. “She’s not human, a witch or something.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Iceburg said, turning back to face the larger group. “Let’s carry on.”

Hours passed by, and they had encountered nothing but animals. Most of them were harmless, but they had run into several extremely aggressive predators. All so far had been far larger than normal and, while they were no problem for them, the citizens would stand no chance.

“Well,” Iceburg said, surveying the large tiger they had just dispatched, “I think it would be best to put the island under quarantine until we get a handle on these predators. Also, that woman…” He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. You would likely be the best bet to finding out about the island.

“Yeah, she probably has something to do with this, and these animals attacking. We should go find her,” Paulie said, snapping a length of rope in his hands. He scoured the trees around him, eyes lingering on every leaf and blade of grass that twitched in the wind.

Somehow, Iceburg didn’t agree with that assessment. If you really posed a threat, you would likely have made more effort to harm them. But they had seen nothing more strange than the animals.

“I think we should head back,” Kaku said, gripping Paulie’s shoulder. Iceburg could see in the way he looked at Paulie that he disagreed with the other foreman’s assessment, but knew it would be fruitless to argue. Once he set his mind, there was no changing it. “It’ll be dark soon, and we aren’t equipped to deal with things in the dark. 

There were more voices of agreement, and Iceburg nodded as well. “We’ll figure out what to do when we get back to headquarters. Right now, it would be pointless to continue.”

The trek back was quicker than it had been forward, making them feel as if they had made no progress. The sun was still high enough in the sky, but the island had begun to feel cold, like they were suddenly unwelcome.

Wondering if you had something to do with it, Iceburg looked around one last time. The treeline stopped some twenty feet up the beach. There was no gentle transition from sand to woods, it was just one and then suddenly it was the other. He hoped that maybe you would come back and try one last time to greet them, but there was nothing more than the gentle swaying of trees in the wind.

Unbeknownst to him, from the safety of your home, you watched the group in the glass surface of a mirror as they hacked a path through the island and back. You could feel the island was on edge, but you were fighting its compulsion to hurt them for harming it. You understood its want, but you still hoped to meet someone properly. Allowing harm to come to this group could result in something far worse. The island wasn’t indestructible.

One man in particular, the leader, it looked like, kept looking around as if he were waiting for something.

When they arrived back at the beach, his gaze kept returning to the spot you had been hidden. Taking a good look at him, you couldn’t help but wonder…

Was he wearing lipstick?

* * *

Hours later, after the sun had completely disappeared and you knew the darkness would hide you, you moved your house to the beach, where you had the best view of the other island. It wasn’t the same one the men had landed on before, in case they returned in the night and caught you unawares. You didn’t know the name of the other island, but it was just as stunning in the dark as it was in the light. The whole island was lit up, casting beautiful shadows over the water, and the fountain was lit up like a beacon, the beams refracting off of it and creating the most amazing light show.

You were too far from the island to hear, but you could imagine the chatter of the crowded streets, the throngs of happy people greeting each other as they met for dinner or drinks. For the first time, you actually considered what it would be like to be in the midst of something like that. The thought didn’t stick around for long though, your natural aversion to anything social rising up to remind you of just why you were on this island in the first place.

Out of the blue, a ripple traveled over the island. Someone had landed-- just one. You hesitated, rubbing your wrists where the rope had bound you.

But there was only one, and you could disappear as easily as smoke if they proved dangerous. In fact, if you so desired, you could hide yourself the entire time that your island was in this plane. People could peer through your living room window and they would never know.

With that in mind, you cautiously made your way towards the beach where the group had landed earlier. To you, this indicated it was someone from that group, and you had a guess about who it was.

“...Hello?” a voice called, just within earshot of you. “Please come out. I want to apologize for earlier.”

You stopped at the treeline, poking your head around the trunk of a tree to assess the situation.

It was exactly who you had guess, the blue-haired leader. A small boat sat partially in the water behind him, too small to hide anyone to spring a trap. His hands were held out, palms up to show they were empty.

Biting your lip, you cautiously revealed yourself to him, watching for anything suspicious. You could feel the island pulling its own magic up, creating a shroud around you. It recognized the man from earlier too-- as a threat.

As you stepped into the light, Iceburg’s eyes widened, his hands falling to his sides. He took a step forward, and you took one back in response, so he paused, allowing you to approach at your own pace. He could see you were on edge, watching him with sharp eyes. He wanted to call out, to tell you he was unarmed and not going to hurt you, but he knew you had no reason to believe him. He had made the decision shortly after landing back at Water 7 to return, alone, to see if he could find you. He had no doubts that you would remain hidden if he returned with the others, especially Paulie, and felt he was in no danger from you.

At long last, you stood in front of him, shoulders tense, but you didn’t attack him, which he took as a good sign. 

“My name is Iceburg. I’m the mayor of Water 7,” he said, gesturing towards the city behind him. “I’m sorry my foreman attacked you earlier. Paulie can get a little overzealous.”

His eyes roved over your face, drinking in your sharp eyes and frown. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, hoping you would accept his apology. There was so much he wanted to ask you.

You didn’t respond for several long moments, and he could feel his hope fading away. Then you relaxed, your lips curling up at the corners ever so slightly. Your head cocked to the side, your hair falling from your shoulders, and his heart skipped a beat as he realized you were rather beautiful.

“_____,” you said, holding your hand out for him to shake. When he took it, he nearly swallowed it in his. His skin was rough against yours, and you could feel numerous calluses on his fingers. You wondered what kind of work a mayor did to have hands like that. The contact was drawn out as you stared at each other, each lost in your own thoughts, until you realized it had become awkward. You pulled away, looking out across the water towards the lights to cover it up, saying, “You called it Water 7. What’s it like?”

Iceburg started, pulled from his haze and followed your gaze to the city. It was a wonder, he knew, and it wasn’t often that he got to view it from a distance, let alone at night. “It’s a city built atop a city. We build some of the greatest ships in the world here.”

You could hear the pride reflected in his voice and smiled, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He was smiling, the lights reflecting in his eyes as he watched his city.

“Well, I have so many questions,” he said, turning his whole attention to you. He was sure you had many of your own, but his curiosity was burning far too hot to be patient.

You chuckled, pressing your hand to your mouth to stifle the noise. “I bet. Can I guess what you want to ask first?” you asked, sitting down in the sand. The warm sea water came up just high enough to wash over your feet before receding. It had been a solid year since you had felt that sensation.

Iceburg followed suit, sitting as close as he could to you without touching, although you got the feeling he did that more out of consideration for you than for him. His gaze was just about burning holes in you, and you could already read more than curiosity in them. 

Instead of teasing him, you said, “Right. I would guess your first question is…’How did this island just appear here?’” 

“Correct,” he said, smiling at you. It widened when you pretended to cheer, then drew a tally in the sand. “So, what’s the answer then?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” you said, scooting away from him to create space before turning to him. You began to draw a crude picture in the sand, two circles, one large and one small, overlapping each other like a venn diagram. In the smaller one on the right, you drew an odd, squigly shape. “That one is my island. It’s in its own pocket dimension, if you can call it that, most of the time. Once every year, it jumps…” At this, you erased the shape and drew a new one in the bigger circle. “...to this one. Where it appears is entirely random.”

Iceburg studied it for a minute, pondering things he had heard from others. “I’ve heard legends, mostly from the older sailors, about islands that come and go. Could they all actually be your island?” he asked, staring at the diagram. His brain was working overtime trying to remember everything he had heard over the years. Even Tom had told stories of it. He had believed them, saying that stranger things have happened in the Grand Line, but Iceburg had always written them off as fairy tales.

“Most likely. My island doesn’t usually land near other islands. I get lucky...maybe once a decade. Sometimes, ships happen upon it in the middle of the sea. Their...log...poses?-- I think that’s what you call them-- don’t point to my island, though, so it spooks them. Most avoid landing,” you said, doodling absentmindedly in the sand. The water had washed away most of your drawing, leaving only a vague impression that anything had been there at all. It was sad, really. Even ships passing by were rare, and watching them flee was enough to make you feel more lonely than if you were to see no one at all.

“That would explain why no one can say how often it appears, and why there are ‘multiple islands’,” he said, pieces beginning to fall into place. “Now that I think about it, very few of the stories mention a witch living alone on the island, as the sole inhabitant.”

You nodded and smiled, then snapped your fingers, causing blue sparks to fly. “That’s me. There are so few with me in it because not many people know I’m there. I can count on less than ten fingers how many people I’ve met in the last decade.” You held your hands up to prove it. “You make seven.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So few. You must be lonely. Why do you stay?” He watched your smile morph, not quite happy, but not sad. It was...content, maybe?

“I can’t leave the island. My magic binds me, trapping me here.”

“Oh,” he said, and reached out to touch your shoulder. “I’m sorry. Can you leave at all?”

The warmth of his hand radiated out, soothing you. It was doused immediately when he pulled away. You wanted to feel it again, but pushed it away. No doubt he would find it strange if you reached out to him and leave, and you most definitely wanted him to stay.

“I can,” you said, rubbing the spot his hand had been. The action was unconscious, and didn’t go unnoticed. “But the distance is small.”

Iceburg looked from you, to the island, then back to you. “Do you think…”

But you were already shaking your head, looking forlorn as you stared ahead of you. “I already know it’s too far. I think it’s on purpose, but the island has never once fallen within a distance I could leave.”

Iceburg could practically feel the disappointment radiating off you, and reached out again, grazing your hand. You jumped, but allowed him to take it, relishing the warmth.

“How long before you leave?” He asked it as if you were just on vacation.

“Six days. Always six days,” you said, suppressing the urge to lace your fingers through his.

He stood up, using his hold to tug you up as well. “Alright, well, since I can’t bring you to the island, I’ll bring some of the island to you. How does that sound?” he asked, leading you further down towards his boat.

He watched your face light up, and felt his heart pick up its pace again. No one had ever looked at him like that, and it made him want to see more. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, since I do have to work. Will you meet me here?”

You nodded enthusiastically, but he could see the happiness change to something darker. He covered the hand he already held with his other one, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “Don’t. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He found it harder than it should have been to release your hand, and as you grew smaller on the shore, he had to fight not to turn the boat around and return to you. He couldn’t imagine how lonely you must have been on the island all those years, but he couldn’t forego his responsibilities. Still, he would give you what he could while you were here.

* * *

The announcement that the island was off limits went over about as well as Iceburg expected. The citizens were outraged, but Iceburg was firm. He hadn’t discussed with you at all about it, and wasn’t sure how you would feel having your island overrun with nosy strangers. Couple that with the oversized predators roaming the island, and it wasn’t safe. The foremen could handle it, but couldn’t be taken from their jobs to play babysitter. It would force the whole of the city to essentially shut down, which would be fiscally catastrophic for the island.

No, it was better that he make the island off limits, at least until he talked to you. He could make plans later, if you were okay with it.

He retired to his office amid boos, which was a first in all his time as mayor, but he would take it, and they would get over it. He was exhausted today, and laid down on his couch to nap. Even Kalifa, who had been nagging him to get his paperwork done all week, left him alone.

His eyes drifted shut, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

* * *

You watched the city begin to light up as it got darker. Instead of leaving your house hidden, and therefore having to sit in the sand again for hours, you settled it down on the beach to wait for Iceburg. You had no doubt that he would show up. He seemed as interested in you as you were in him.

Not too long after sundown, when the lights had finally stopped turning on, you made out a shape approaching the island.

Iceburg chuckled when he saw you waving from the front porch of a house. 

Wait, a house? There hadn’t been a house there last night.

Tonight, he had brought his own personal yagara, since he knew now that it was safe to leave him floating in the water. But it snorted and began to slow the closer they got to shore, trying to resist Iceburg’s directions. That was strange for his normally docile bull, and he was just wondering if something was wrong when it suddenly surged forward, in a rush to reach the beach.

He looked up and saw you standing in the water, up over your knees, your hands turned up as if encouraging him. His suspicions were confirmed just seconds later when the bull pulled up right in front of you and headbutted you gently.

“Animals can sense the island isn’t normal. They take some coaxing,” you said, rubbing its head gently. “What is this, anyway?”

“This is a yagara bull. They’re used to move through the city,” Iceburg answered, watching you. The bull was eating up the attention, and you seemed equally as smitten.

“Why do you need to use them?” you asked, looking up at him. You couldn’t see why an island would need a water animal as the main mode of transportation. Iceburg determined that the yagara could go no further, and got out to stand in the warm water. It rose only to his shins, and he was glad he had kicked his shoes off in the boat. There were a few bags in the back seat, and when he hoisted them up in his arms, your eyes lit up with curious excitement.

Giving the yagara one last pat, you waded after him towards shore, almost bouncing in anticipation. As you ushered him towards the house, he remembered that he wanted to ask you about that.

“How is there a house here now? There wasn’t last night.” 

Your hand on his elbow stopped him, and you said, “Watch.” 

Of course he expected the answer to involve magic somehow, but more in the realm of ‘teleportation’, and not ‘bird legs underneath the foundation’. 

As quick as it rose, it settled again, looking once more like a nondescript log cabin beach house.

Iceburg was at a loss for words as he searched for any sign of the massive legs. Of course he had known you were magical, as was the island itself, but this was the first direct display of true magic he had seen so far, and the most unsettling. He did his best to hide his unease but, judging by the vaguely hurt look on your face, he hadn’t done a very good job.

“We can just stay out here, if you’d rather. I know it takes some getting used to,” you said, rocking on the balls of your feet. You couldn’t fault him; it had taken you a while to get over the shock as well.

“Well, no,” he said, shifting the bags in his hands. “It’s just different. I’d like to see it.”

The smile you gave him blew his discomfort out of the water, and he suddenly couldn’t remember why he had been bothered in the first place as he followed you up the stairs like a puppy. Inside was somehow larger than it looked like it should be but still proportional to the outside of the house, like the room was constantly in flux. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that was the case.

Surveying the living room as he crossed it revealed a lot about you, and the way you lived. There was a large portion of one wall dedicated to a bookshelf, which was overflowing to the point that a lot of the shelves were crammed full and haphazardly double-stacked. He would have to browse through and see what you liked, and if you wanted anything from the island. He wasn’t sure how often you managed to get new reading material. The rest of that wall was dedicated to potions and ingredients. Plants, both in pots and overflowing to grow up the rafters, decorated the ceiling. An empty bird perch stood next to an open window on another wall, beside a cold fireplace. There were three other closed doors, but he wasn’t rude enough to ask where they led.

The kitchen itself was rather modern, more so than he would have expected, but the counters were cluttered with an assortment of strange objects and ingredients that he had never seen before. A large plant sitting on the end counter caught his eye, its long tendrils wrapping around your arm as you passed.

You caught him staring and picked it up, moving it out of the way as you said, “It’s harmless, but does like to steal things. The leaves are tough, and can be made into twine and rope, among other things. You can set those down here.”

He did as told and placed them where the plant had previously been and began to pull things out of bags, arranging them in the limited space you had given him. He felt your arm curl around his side, your body pressing against him before you peered around him at what he was doing, an excited smile on your face. With plenty of space to either side of him for you to watch from, he could have called you out, but held his tongue. Heat still crept up his neck, though, because he found he didn’t really mind.

In his haste to collect things up and get to you, he had ordered everything on the menu at the water water stand, followed by some of the normal foods at other stands. A stop at Blueno’s bar had raised questions about whether he was throwing a party, but he brushed it off with a laugh.

The last bag was particularly special. It had been on a whim that he bought it, passing by the shop after the rest of his shopping had been done.

You felt the air shift, tension coming into his shoulders as he removed a box from the last bag. You moved around to stand beside him, eyeing it suspiciously while you waited for him to explain.

“There’s an island not too far from here that holds festivals everyday,” he said, opening the top box to reveal a stunning porcelain mask. He lifted it up and cradled it gingerly in his hands, allowing you to view it. The nose was long, the tip angled down, with intricate purple and black lacing painted from the corners of the eyes down to the chin. The lips were painted a vibrant green.

“It’s gorgeous,” you said, running a finger delicately over the paintwork. “This has something to do with the festivals?”

“Oh, well, yes. They wear masks like these, among other costumes. We have a shop that hand makes them. I wanted you to have one,” he said, smiling down at you gently. It was one of the few things special-made on the island that he could actually bring to you. A ship was just out of the question.

You took the mask from him, examining it with a softened grin for a moment, before tucking it back into the box. Then you turned back to him and, to his immense satisfaction, threw yourself into his arms. He cradled you gently to his chest, practically glowing that his gift was so well received.

“Thank you, Iceburg. I love it,” you said, trying not to cry on his shirt too much. It was the first time you could recall receiving a gift since you were human, and the nicest gift you could recall ever receiving, period.

“I’m glad you like it so much,” he said, caressing your hair.

Neither of you moved for several moments, but eventually you pulled apart. It was a mutual decision, with neither of you really wanting to.

With your face much warmer than was comfortable, you focused on the enticing smell coming from the remaining bags. “What is all this?”

“Well, I figured you probably haven't had...er…” He had almost said proper food, but felt that would be too rude. He glanced up to find you smirking, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking. Clearing his throat, he continued with, “Modern food in a while. So I brought you plenty to try.”

You laughed, patting his arm in appreciation before going for plates. The two of you settled on the couch, covering the coffee table with the numerous boxes so you wouldn’t have to get up for more. Between everything, you didn't even eat half of what he brought, but tasted everything at least once. It all tasted spectacular to you, especially the water water dishes. When you told him so, he seemed especially pleased.

“That’s a Water 7 specialty,” he said, sliding his plate onto the table. Normally, he wouldn’t be so rude, but he was so full that he couldn’t move. Judging by the satisfied expression on your face, neither could you.

“That was fantastic, Iceburg,” yo said, smiling at him. “Thank you so much.”

To your surprise, he reached out and took your hand, giving it a solid squeeze. “I told you, you’ve only got a week, so I’m going to bring Water 7 to you.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, but not solely because of Iceburg’s kindness. His words were like cold water, reminding you that, soon, you would return to the solitude of your dimension. After that, it was unlikely you would ever see him again.

Which was all the more painful to think about, because you were pretty sure you were falling in love with him. 

Which was absolutely ridiculous because you had only known him for two days. Still, he had shown you more kindness than you had known in decades, even when you resided in this dimension, so maybe it wasn’t. To top it off, you had seen so few people since you took the island, that it shouldn’t have been surprising that your emotions flared up like gasoline on a fire.

Iceburg realized that he had said the wrong thing when you didn’t answer and your smile fell into a frown. You seemed to see through him, fixing an empty stare at a blank spot on the wall behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, moving closer to you and taking your other hand in his. “Is there no way to break the island's hold on you?” He didn’t have much in the way of hope, but maybe there was something he could do that you couldn't.

You were taken by surprise at his question, then realized that he had mistaken your sadness over never seeing him again as sadness over being stuck on the island. It was sweet, how upset he seemed to be on your behalf, and you felt only a little bad that you allowed him to continue to think so. The truth would be so much harder to explain.

“I wish,” you said, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. It was comforting, knowing he was willing to help you, even if it was under false pretenses. “‘Only by passing the contract on to another will you be unbound from this island’,” you said, repeating the words the witch had spoken to you before she left, leaving you alone on the island. It had been the best deal you had ever made.

Iceburg hummed, then you both fell into an uneasy silence. His brilliant mind couldn’t see anyway to get you out of it, and he already knew you would reject to submitting anyone else to this. Besides, even bringing it up would be selfish. Still, he would be a liar if he said it wasn't tempting. At least you would be free, able to stay with him. He wanted to get to know you more, show you around Water 7, and...and…

...And that was a dangerous line of thinking. Did he really want to get tangled up with someone he had so little chance of seeing again?

Once more, he had the strange feeling you could read his mind as you sat up and pinned him with an unreadable look.

Instead of giving into the screaming temptation to cup your face and claim your lips with his, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze and stood up. He caught the fleeting look of disappointment on your face before it was replaced with an understanding smile. You stood as well, and together put away the leftovers before he headed towards the door.

His yagara was waiting exactly where he had left it, and he waded out into the water.

“Thank you, Iceburg. For the mask, and the food, and...everything,” you said from behind him.

He turned to find you had stopped at the waterline, the waves barely lapping your toes. You were still wearing that sad smile, and sounded like you were saying goodbye.

But that wasn’t what this was. He wasn’t going to just leave you alone for your remaining time here, just because he was unsure of how to proceed. There was no doubt that you felt the same, but he had yet to decide what he wanted.

“You’re welcome, _____. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ve had an idea I think you’ll enjoy,” he said as he patted his bull on the head. He winked at you before climbing into the boat on its back.

You watched him disappear in the dark with a pounding heart.

* * *

All the next day, you were an anxious mix of excitement and trepidation. 

Whereas yesterday you were certain he would come back, today you were almost positive he wouldn’t. You wouldn’t really blame him, if he didn’t. If you were him, you wouldn’t think twice about getting involved with someone in your position, at least not so quickly. In fact, you were on the fence about it yourself. Was it really such a good idea to kindle something that would be snuffed out in a matter of days? It was slim that you would ever see him again. Would you regret it if you let it slip by?

Hundreds of variations of those thoughts plagued you all day, only adding to the tremendous stress on your nerves.

When night finally fell, your nerves were so fried that you were tempted to pick up and leave to the other side of the island and hide out until you shifted back to your plane. But you didn’t, like you knew you wouldn’t, because that was childish and unfair, so you sat out on the porch to wait.

The lights put on their usual show, dozens blinking on at a time until the island cast a shadow on the water.

From the darkness came a shadow, and you felt like you might cry as you watched Iceburg come closer. When he got close enough that you could see him properly, you found he looked as happy to see you as you felt seeing him.

Instead of getting out of the boat, however, he gestured for you to come to him. You slowly made your way out to him, feeling the sand slip beneath your feet with the ebb and flow of the current. The water was up above your knees by the time you reached him, dangerously close to the edge of your shorts.

He held his hand out to you while trying to keep the yagara from floating too far away. “I know you said you can’t go far, but I hope you’ll allow me to get you as close as I can. I really would like for you to see it.”

You frowned, looking from him to the city, your outstretched hand suspended in midair as you deliberated. The first and last time you had attempted to leave, you had almost drowned when your new found magic had tried to strangle you, resulting in you falling into the water. It wasn’t even like you were trying to actually  _ go  _ anywhere, you had simply been testing the boundaries.

“If not, that’s alright too.” He had thought it was a good idea, but maybe there was something else you had neglected to tell him.   
“No, I want to,” you said, slipping your hand into his at last. You trusted him well enough to risk it. “Just...I have to be careful. The magic is aggressive if it thinks I’m trying to leave.”

That put Iceburg on guard. The last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt. He helped you into the boat, feeling it rock ominously beneath his feet as you climbed over the side. You clung to him as the yagara turned back to the city. Just as quickly, you let go and focused on the approaching city, watching the lights grow steadily brighter, thus missing Iceburg’s frown.

But as he watched the wonder fill your face, he wasn’t too upset. Even if you grew angry at him, or left without anything more happening between you, he would never regret that he got to be the one to show you this, to see you so happy.

You turned to him, smiling and ready to say something, but then froze. Your hand came up, clutching at your chest, eyes growing wide and seeming to plead with him for help. Instead of going to you as you fell to your knees, beginning to hyperventilate from the pain, he yanked the reins on the bull, urging it to turn back to the island. He didn’t go very far; as soon as he heard your breathing ease, he stilled the yagara.

He was by your side in an instant, the small boat rocking as he knelt down beside you. One hand held yours, the other at the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles as you breathed deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, taking in your pale, scared face. It had sounded like you were choking, and it had happened in an instant. He saw now why you were so hesitant. “We’ll go back. This was a terrible idea, I’--”

He was cut off when you reached up and cupped his cheek, your skin soft against his as you pressed your thumb gently to his lips. You gave him a weak smile, but he could see that, somehow, you were happy.

“It’s not your fault. The magic has a mind of its own. This happened the last time too.” The warning the magic gave you was small, right before it slammed into effect. “I knew it would happen. And it was a wonderful idea. I didn’t think I would get anywhere near, but you did it.”

Iceburg helped you to your feet, keeping one hand around your waist in case you collapsed. You were still shaking, could still feel the flare of magic in your chest, lying in wait in case you strayed too far again.

He was relieved that you weren’t badly hurt, couldn’t imagine how he would feel if it was because of him. His arm tightened around you and, before he realized he was doing it, he pulled you close, tucking you into his side. To his relief, you didn’t pull away. He looked down, watching your fist curl into his shirt and realized that, regardless of how much he fought, he had lost the first time you smiled at him.

Keeping his hold on you, he used his free hand to steer his yagara around to face the city, then led you to sit.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, unable to contain yourself as he curled his other arm around you, effectively caging you to his chest. More than ever, you could recognize just how strong he was, what he could do if he so desired and yet he cradled you so gently. Protective, not possessive, he was warm and comforting.

You knew it was a lost cause to fight it in that moment. No matter how you thought you would feel when it came time for you to leave, it would pale in comparison to the regret of having let it pass by.

“You know, I never did ask you. I think I was too preoccupied with knowing about the island, but how did you come to be chained to it?” he asked. The yagara floated gently in the water, and he kept a watchful eye to make sure it stayed within a safe range of your island.

You laughed a little, realizing that to answer his question you would have to reveal that you had lied, even if it was only by omission. Still, you didn’t think he would be too upset, if he even saw it that way. So you told him your story.

“I was raised in a large, poor family in a small village on an island in the West Blue. I suppose I was pretty enough that a wealthy man wanted to marry me, even though I was still so young. I don’t think that my parents  _ wanted  _ to, exactly. But he offered a large sum of money to my parents, in exchange for me and...they agreed.” When you had first found out, you had been livid and hurt, thinking your parents had betrayed you. Which, technically they had. But as you grew older, you began to realize that they had done it only out of necessity, with several other children and themselves to take care of. It didn’t negate the hurt, and you couldn’t be sure that that was how they felt, but it helped take some of the sting out to believe it. “I ran away and sailed for a few years. It wasn’t long before I finally realized that everywhere was like my village, either poor and in need of help or overrun with powerful people who think they can do whatever they want to others.”

That was enough to make Iceburg’s skin crawl. The idea that your parents essentially sold you to another person was nothing short of slavery, and as he looked down at you, he couldn’t blame ou for running away. His hold on you tightened, which you didn’t miss. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was upsetting him when you looked up and saw the black anger in his eyes. But it softened when he locked eyes with you, one hand coming up to brush the hair behind you ear. “So how did you end up on this island then?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, trying and failing to fight the blush creeping over your cheeks. In the moment, you had forgotten you were telling a story. “Well, one day when I was sailing through to a new island— I never left the West Blue, unfortunately— I happened upon this island. The witch at the time was telling me about how much she wanted to leave, but couldn’t because of the magic. It sounded like a pretty good bargain to me, since I was tired of travelling and of people. Having the magic to keep people away as well as protect myself sounded like a dream. Of course, she didn’t tell me about the whole ‘island shift’, so that was an experience.” You shifted so that you were settled between his legs, your back pressed to his chest, and his arms fell to your waist. “The weather there is terrible, but it’s nice and quiet.”

It was strange, how much you talked about disliking people, and yet here you were curled up with him and talking like you hadn’t had a decent conversation in years. Which probably wasn’t far off, based on what you had said before. He wondered if that made him special, and he chuckled at the thought.

All of that raised another, pressing question which had never actually crossed his mind until now. At a glance, you appeared to be young, 20s, by his guess. But you hadn’t said how long you were travelling before you found the island, and you said it had been a decade since you had seen anyone. “How...old are you?”

You laughed and he immediately realized how that must sound. He definitely hadn’t meant it in a bad way, but he couldn't think of any way to ask politely. 

It was a valid question, you decided, but it made you wonder the same. “I’ll tell you if you tell me how old you are,” you said, eyeing him playfully.

“Well that’s easy. I’m 36.”

“Ah. Well, when I signed the contract, I was 25. That was 73 years ago,” you said. The smile grew a little more rigid as you waited to see his reaction. You knew the answer off the top of your head, because you kept strict track of when you came to this plane. You had no way of knowing for sure, because you hadn’t asked the witch before she left, but it always shifted the day you had signed, and you wondered if that happened to her as well. She had been older than you, with streaks of grey in her hair and a deep frown. She had seemed almost sad when you began to sign, like she regretted that you were doing it, but hadn’t stopped you. You supposed she had thought you would be unhappy, but it was fortunate that it was more than you could have hoped for. “Since then, I haven’t aged. I suppose it’s the island’s way of making sure there’s always a witch.”

“You talk about the island as if it’s a sentient thing,” he said, rubbing his chin. He hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that you were almost a hundred years old, but that didn’t stop his curiosity.

“It is, or the magic is, at least. I know it doesn’t make sense, but the magic owns me, not the other way around. I can see it and control it to some extent, but it isn’t mine. I don’t even know why the contract exists, or who made it, or anything. All I do know is that the witch before me was bound for 230 years, the one before her for 150, and so on.” The house, you had found, passed ownership with the contract, and the possessions of the others remained inside. At least until the next owner cleaned it out. You had found documents and journals going back nearly 1000 years, but there was nothing on how the island came to be what it was. It made you wonder just how old it was, that that information was lost. “I’m pretty sure the witch was tricking me into signing, but based on the way they talk, they don’t  _ want  _ to trick people the way I was, but the loneliness becomes too much, never seeing other people for more than a week at a time, if they see anyone at all that year.” You wondered if you would ever get to that point. Sure, sometimes it got to where you wanted someone around, but it was always fleeting. You wondered if something was wrong with you.

As if he could read your mind, pulled you close, laying his head on top of yours. He too wondered how you managed to last so long with no contact, but it wasn’t his place to ask. If you were happy, he couldn’t see how you were wrong. “Well, if you’re happy, that’s all that matters, right? It’s wrong that they’re tricking people, but, well, after so long, I don’t think I could resist either. We’ll make the most of the time we’ve got left, hm?”

You grinned, burying your face in his neck to hide the furious rush of embarrassment. He had said ‘we’, and even the knowledge that there wouldn’t be a ‘we’ after this week wasn’t enough to douse the warmth of happiness. You had someone, even just for a little while, and it was enough.

“I suppose since you know so much about me now, it’s only fair you talk about yourself. How did you become mayor?” you asked, looking out towards the city again. The yagara had floated a decent ways sideways, closer to the massive door of Dock 6, but remained well within the boundaries your magic had placed.

“Ah,” he said, looking up at the door with a fond smile. He started off explaining to you about Galley-La’s history, which led farther back to Tom and Tom’s Workers. He began to grow sad as he explained what had befallen his mentor, and his friend Cutty Flam, and you laced your fingers with his in silent sympathy. After that, you fell silent, content to rest your head on his chest and listen to the beating of his heart.

He didn’t have much to say after that either, caught up in reminiscing about old memories he had never talked to anyone about. Even Kokoro, who was intimately involved in the whole ordeal, didn’t talk about it with him. And there was no way Franky would, he still felt the sting of guilt for causing it.

After a while, the gentle sway of the boat, accompanied by the warmth Iceburg provided, became too much. Your eyes closed, and you fell asleep.

It took him a little while to realize it, but he chuckled when he did. You looked peaceful, not unlike the content look you wore whenever you looked at him, or talked about your life. But it was nice in a different way, and he wondered if you always looked like that when you slept, or if it was just him. 

He turned the yagara back towards shore, guiding it as close as he could. You looped your arms around his shoulders when he lifted you into his arms, snuggling closer to him as he waded through the water. As he stepped through the front door, he realized he had no idea which of the other three doors led to your bedroom. He hesitated, but then you pointed, and the door straight ahead opened.

He chuckled at that, thanking you quietly as he entered. Your bedroom was markedly less cluttered than your living room, with a bed, a wardrobe, and another bookshelf the only furniture in the room.

And you had moved that clingy plant in, as well.

He gently laid you down on your bed. You let go easily enough, but before he could pull back, you had sat up, looking tired but determined. Your face filled his vision, and then he felt your lips on the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you, Iceburg. I don’t have the words to describe how happy you’ve made me,” you whispered when you pulled back.

Your eyes were closed, and you were still close enough that he could feel your lips move against his. There was no thought as he cupped the back of your head with one hand, tanging his fingers in your hair as he captured your lips properly with his. He could feel your soft hand at his neck, the other curled around his arm, using that to pull yourself closer. Sooner than he would have liked, you pulled away, gazing up at him with a tired smile. His thumb stroked over your lower lip as he fought against the temptation to kiss you again. He still had to sleep and work in the morning.

“I should go,” he murmured, but made no move to leave.

Only when you nodded, giving him a playful push did he step back towards the door, which closed behind him when he was through.

Before you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but laugh. Turns out, it wasn’t lipstick.

* * *

Iceburg was exhausted the next day.

It was the early hours of the morning by the time he got back, and that combined with the previous late nights had finally caught up with him. He was flipping mindlessly through paperwork, signing whatever Kalifa placed in front of him without reading it.

At long last, he was done. Looking at the time, he decided there was enough for him to get in a few hours sleep before he returned to you.

In the meantime, you had been tending your garden. Though you tended to roam the island most of the time, there was a special spot in the center of the island that was clearly the house’s “nest”. It was a literal nest, made of massive amounts of grass and foliage. It was also where the previous witch had kept her own garden, and you were sure that it had been in use for centuries, making it the richest soil on the island. 

The plane you spent most of your time in was shrouded in fog, and you had never seen the sun there, so the plants were specially cultivated to live with little to none. That meant that, when you felt the shift begin, you covered them with a tarp to protect them from the harmful sun. 

Still, they needed water, and the few minutes they would be exposed wouldn’t hurt them. Most of them were ready for harvest, which you would do when you got back. That thought made you wilt a little, but you pushed it down as best you could. You didn’t want to spend any more time moping. It was almost funny how in a few short days Iceburg had weaseled his way into your heart so much that you would forego your solitude for him.

You had started tending later in the day, when the suns rays were weaker so, by the time you were done, the shadows of the trees were starting to blend in with the darkness of the approaching night.

Rising to your knees, you covered the plants back up with the tarp and looked at your hands, deciding to shower on the way back to the beach.

It was past the time he usually arrived by the time you arrived at the beach, but not by much, so when he wasn’t there, you wondered if he had been so impatient that he didn’t wait at all. 

But that didn’t sound like him. No, something must have come up.

You decided to wait, allowing the house to settle down on the sand. Hours passed and there was still no sign of him. Trying to stem the tide of disappointment in your chest, you finally gave in and went to bed.

* * *

Iceburg awoke to the first rays of sunlight hitting his eyes. When he realized that, he jerked up from his prone position, wincing at the pain in his back. That couch wasn’t good enough for a short nap, let alone a good night’s sleep.

There was a knock at the door, and Kalifa entered, looking not at all surprised to find him there.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged, Iceburg,” she said, setting a steaming mug on his desk. She turned to look at him, a knowing glint in her eye. “It’s going to catch up with you.”

He hugged out a tired laugh, even though guilt was eating him alive inside.

“Well, that won’t be a problem for much longer,” he said, standing up. Tomorrow, he reminded himself, it won’t be a problem anymore. He picked up the cup she had just set down and blew on it before taking a sip. The taste of strong black coffee made him wince. It wasn’t the way he normally took it, but today wasn’t a normal day. “Thank you, Kalifa.”

She nodded and made her way out with one last knowing glance.

Finishing his coffee, he made his way to the bathroom. Although it wasn’t something he made a habit of, there were enough occasions where he had spent the night in the office to warrant keeping a spare set of clothes handy.

As he glanced at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t deny that he had needed the sleep. Still, he could only imagine how you must be feeling. He supposed he could only hope you would understand.

It was this hope that allowed him to get through the day, absentmindedly filling out the remaining paperwork as he watched the hands on the clock circle around.

When the bell chimed to signal the day was over, instead of immediately rushing out to you, he decided to go home and shower, changing into something more comfortable. While he was near desperate to get to you, he also needed to feel a little more human after sleeping in the office.

At long last, he was properly ready to face you. As if he sensed his master’s urgency, Iceburg’s yagara took off, weaving through the streets as fast as he could without being a danger.

The island came into view, and his heart leapt into his throat. Relief collided with apprehension when he saw your house sitting where it had every other night. He had thought he would have to go searching for you, that you would be too angry to see him.

But he saw you on the porch swing, watched you perk up as you caught sight of him and step off the porch as he splashed down in the water.

You hesitated at the shoreline, waiting until he stood in front of you. Before you could even open your mouth, he was grabbing your hands and apologizing.

“I fell asleep yesterday and didn’t wake up until this morning. For what it’s worth, I woke up terribly sore. I’ve been waiting all day to come see you. I’m so sorry, _____.”

You let him ramble without interrupting, and when he finally opened his eyes, he found you looking up at him with the softest smile.

“I was upset last night, don’t get me wrong. But...after I slept on it, I realized you must have had a good reason.” Realized wasn’t exactly the right word. Really, you had placed all your hope on it. The gamble had paid off either way, because he now stood in front of you. “I should apologize as well. I didn’t consider how hard it must have been on you, working and then spending most of the night with me,” you said, placing your hand over his heart. The steady rhythm drummed under your palm, a little faster than normal.

He returned your gentle smile, eyes closing halfway as his hands cupped your cheeks. His lips were soft against yours, slanting over them and claiming them in the gentlest way he could manage.

Your hands settled on his stomach, content to lean into him and let him lead. His tongue ghosted over your lips and you willingly parted them. You were met with the fresh taste of mint as his tongue swept over yours.

His hands left your face, sliding down over your shoulders, all the way to your thighs. Before he could try and lift you up, you pulled away, taking his hand in yours and leading him up to the porch. You would be damned before you got caught out on the beach, even if you were never going to be seen again. At the door, he got impatient and pinned you against the wood, skimming his nose down your cheek as he peppered kisses to your neck. His hands massaged your hips, your shirt beginning to hike higher up your sides. You laughed and gently pushed him back, reaching down to skim your fingers over the prevalent hard on in his pants. His hips twitched, and he glared at you as you slipped from his arms, disappearing into the house. 

Somehow, you were nowhere to be seen, but your shirt lay on the floor just inside. He caught sight of your shorts flung over the back of the couch. As he approached your closed bedroom door, he saw your bra hung off the handle.

He couldn’t hold back a laugh as he picked it up, heat rising up his neck to engulf his face. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck as he picked it up and examined it before opening the door. It swung inwards without a sound, and if he wasn’t hard before, he was when he found you laying back on the bed, wearing only your panties. You were propped up on your elbows, watching him stand in the doorway, his eyes taking in everything before him.

Carelessly, he tossed the bra to the floor, making a beeline for the bed. You scooted higher up as he came to hover over you, one knee pinned between yours, trapping you beneath his immense frame.

“Took you long enough,” you said, ending on a chuckle. You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, destroying his hard work, but he couldn’t be bothered to mind.

Instead, he leaned down, gathering your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging. “You’re a witch, you know that?”

At that you actually tipped your head back and laughed. “Yes, yes I do.” 

You pulled him back down and forced his lips to yours, allowing your fingers to skim down until they found the buttons of his shirt. By feel rather than sight, you made short work of it and pushed it off his shoulders. You groaned against his mouth as you ran your hands over his shoulders and down his sides, feeling the skin and hard muscles flex under your touch. He certainly had the body of a shipwright, strong and lean and tanned from working on ships day in and day out.

You heard the sound of a zipper followed by the rustle of clothing hitting the floor and moved your head to the side for breath, and so you could take him in. He was just as gorgeous as you had expected him to be under all that clothing, standing up straight and proud as he stood completely naked before you. His cheeks were tinted red, and only deepened the longer you stared, until he couldn’t take it anymore and knelt back down on the bed, settling his hands on your knees. Long, delicate fingers slid up your thighs, squeezing here and there, trailed closely by his lips. Your breathing deepened, butterflies fluttering in your stomach in anticipation, until his hands parted your thighs properly, pushing your legs out and over his shoulders. His nose skimmed your outer lips, his tongue licking from the bottom of your quivering slit up to your clit, drawing it into his warm mouth. He sighed, feeling your juices drip down his chin and brought his hand up, slipping just the tip of one finger inside you.

Your hips jerked, one hand fisting the sheets, the other reaching down to gently card your fingers through his hair, breathing out how good it felt. That one finger finally filled you, brushing over a particularly sensitive spot instantly. On the next stroke in, it was joined by a second, and you couldn’t help the moan that followed it’s entrance.

“Iceburg,” you moaned, tugging gently at his hair. His tongue flicked out, lapping at your clit as he set a slow, steady rhythm, seeking that spot he had touched earlier. 

It took him a few tries, but he found it, judging by the stutter or your hips and the breathy gasp you took. He curled his fingers up, massaging gently, until you fluttered around him. 

“Oh,  _ oh _ ,” you cried, back bowing off the bed as the coil in your belly snapped. He was so gentle as he eased you through it, drawing it out until you begged him to stop.

He came up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and climbed back over you. You gave him a wavering smile, your eyelids fluttering. Your pussy was still throbbing, but you still wanted more, and jerked your hips up, rubbing along the length of his cock. He groaned, rolling his hips down to nestle between your soaked lips, grinding against your clit in the process. A jolt of pleasure zipped through you, tempered by your being still sensitive, but you didn’t care. You wanted him inside you, and you moaned, asking with your hips for it.

“Are you sure?” he asked, even as he braced himself on his elbows over you. The height difference between the two of you had never been more obvious as he towered above you; you had to tilt your head back in order to make eye contact with him, but you nodded, begging him with your eyes.

He angled his hips down, catching the tip of his cock in the opening of your pussy, his entrance eased by your dripping walls. You had just came, but were already so wet for him again, his hips stuttering as you clenched around him. He was only halfway inside you, but was already panting, his head drooping down to rest on his forearm. Your hands were wrapped around his wrists, nails digging into his skin as you held yourself still for him. You couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing around him, your body aching for him to seat fully inside you.

Finally, his hips met yours, cock throbbing inside of you as he was fully engulfed in the warm heat of your body. His breathing deepened as he pulled out and rolled his hips back down, driving deep inside you again. With every meeting of your hips, he was grazing your still sensitive clit, but you were past caring at this point, lifting your hips to meet his desperate thrusts every time. You were already speeding towards your second orgasm, somehow, your ankles locking around his back and limiting how far he could pull out of you.

He made up for it by driving harder down into you, grinding deep into you and trapping your clit between his body and yours. You jerked, crying out as you careened over the edge, unable to help yourself as you rolled your hips up into him, begging him not to stop. You were so lost in it that you almost missed the low call of your name, his arms shaking as he worked to hold himself up over him even as you milked him dry. His head came down to rest on the bed, his chest heaving then flexing as you ghosted your fingers down it.

He laughed at the tickle and rolled off of you, flopping down onto the bed with an arm behind his head. The room was silent for several minutes as you both calmed down and steadied your breathing, then you scooted closer to him, laying your head in the dip of his shoulder.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you were on the verge of falling asleep when he moved, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. His other hand came up to cradle your chin, tilting your head up enough that he could claim your lips. Even though you were exhausted, you knew you only had this one night and didn’t want to waste it by sleeping. You pushed closer, slipping your tongue out to graze his lips, and felt them turn up into a smile against yours.

“I feel the same, but I need a moment. I’m not as young as you,” he said, pushing the hair stuck to your forehead back.

You laughed, hitting him playfully in the chest at his joke. “98 years young and still pushing better than you.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your back and gently pulling you until you sat up and straddled him. He was only half-hard, but viewing you as you sat atop him was doing wonders for that.

It wasn’t long before he took you again, just as gentle as the first time, then again, and again. The last time was almost desperate, all grabbing hands and passionate kisses, like you knew it was going to be the last time. He held you close as you sat in his lap, riding him until the wave broke again, and even after, you didn’t move for a long time, not wanting to admit that it was over.

At last neither of you could deny it and he pulled out of you and laid down, settling you on his chest, legs wrapped together, his fingers tangled in your hair. Sleep came quicker than you wanted, but you were content.

* * *

You awoke the next morning sore and still tired. As you tried to roll over, something pulled you back into the warmth of the sheets. For just a moment, you laid back down to snuggle up, then reality hit.

Your gasp startled a still groggy Iceburg, who looked at you in confusion. You rolled over in a panic, hovering over him as you shook him awake.

“Iceburg, you have to go. Once the island begins the shift, you’ll be trapped,” you said, pushing on his chest.

That got his attention, and he sat up, immediately scouring the room for his clothes. It wasn’t until you were both fully dressed and hurrying across the porch that he paused to look at you. Warmth filled his chest, tempered by a terrible sadness, when he realized that, even though you no doubt wanted him to stay, you were willing to let him go because you knew he couldn’t.

He wanted to, so badly he could almost taste it, he would trade his soul for it; it was so tempting to throw caution to the wind and remain with you.

But he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. Too many people relied on him, and his conscience wouldn’t allow him to abandon them.

Still, he could only imagine how you must be feeling, and he reached out to grab your hand, pulling you to a stop.

“Iceburg, what are you--? You have to go,” you said, trying to tug free. He needed to leave, and quickly, if he wanted to escape. You knew, by the way he talked about Water 7 and it’s citizens, that he could never be happy leaving the city he loved, and you would never ask him to choose between it and you.

“I know,” he said, but still pulled you around and into his arms. Before you could say anything more, he covered your lips with his, feeling you go limp as you gave in. He put his all into the kiss, conveying every unspoken emotion through it, because he knew he might never have another chance.

You allowed yourself this last moment with him, your arms wrapping around his neck to hold yourself to him. You had known it would be hard, had prepared yourself as best you could, but no amount of preparation could compare to the actual stinging pain of separation. Still, you couldn’t regret it. It was the first time in a long time you could say you would be unhappy going back. Even if all you had were memories, you would treasure them.

There was a growing sense of urgency as you felt the push and pull of magic. The shift wasn’t instant, but once it began it would be too late. You sloshed through the water, unheeding of the way it soaked your shorts. His bull was neighing, sensing the powerful change in the air. You stopped and turned his hand palm up, pressing a small object into his hand. “This will guide you to me; it’s imbued with the island’s magic. Just set it on the bow of your ship, and it will point my way. Now go, you’re out of time.”

You pushed him towards the boat, but he turned around one last time and kissed you.

He climbed over the side, his restless yagara already turning towards the grey city walls, and turned to look at you, drinking in your face in the hopes it would sear into his memory, like you had into his heart. 

“I’ll see you again. Maybe years from now, but I’ll find you,” he said as tears began to cascade down your cheeks.

His heart wrenched as you smiled through the sadness and nodded. “I’ll hold you to it. Goodbye, Iceburg.”

Even as you said that, you found yourself moving out, following him until you could almost no longer touch the bottom, watching him grow smaller and smaller until he was just a speck.

He couldn’t remember the ride back, only that he continuously turned around to watch you grow smaller, standing alone in the water. He couldn’t remember getting to work, only the concern his workers expressed at his having been late, but he waved them off. Locking himself in his office, he let only Paulie and Kalifa in, alternating between busying himself with paperwork and watching the island.

He could see now what you meant by a gradual shift, and why it was so important he leave. He supposed being on the island, it wouldn’t ever appear as such, but from his office the island appeared opaque, and seemed to be smoking. It grew more pronounced as the day carried on, until it was more smoke than island. The shadows of evening had long since swallowed the beach up, but you had moved your house hours before, and he thought he could understand why. Watching from his window grew to be too painful at times, at which point he would draw the curtains, obscuring his view. 

Inevitably, though, he would open them again, scouring for a glimpse of you.

It was almost a relief when it grew too dark to see the island anymore, but it also brought with it pain, because he knew it would be gone in the morning.

As if it had bit him, he was reminded of the object you had forced into his hand. At the time, he had deemed it infinitely less important than the final moments he had to hold you in his arms, and so had stowed it in his pocket.

He now pulled it out, finding it to be a battered log pose. Examining it more closely, he determined that it was broken, the needle snapped off at the stem. Yet, as he moved around the office, it always pointed in the direction of the island. He clenched it in his fist, being forcibly reminded of you as he felt the magic roll off of it in waves. Maybe it was because the island was saturated in it, but he had never felt the pull quite so intensely as he did with that log pose in his hand. 

He made a mental note that he would need to get a sturdy container to protect it until he needed it next. A calendar sat on his desk, and he picked up a pen, marking the days that he had spent with you. Not that he could forget them, but he wanted a physical reminder, something tangible he could hold onto.

He sat back, his chair creaking underneath him with the motion, and smiled. He would find you again, he knew it, even if he had to wait a hundred years.


	2. A Devil and His Spots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a stranger washes up on shore, and suddenly you find yourself with company. you aren’t sure you’ll survive for a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in present tense, which i’ve never done before, so i’m hoping it’s decent. also, this didn’t go in the direction i wanted it to, but i just don’t have the motivation to edit it 600x, so this is pretty much pwp.  
> that being said, i don't dislike it. i just never got it where i wanted it to be.

It’s been a few days since the island’s been back in the Grand Line-- or that’s where you always assume it to be-- and it’s been raining the entire time. You’ve spent much of your time sitting by the window, curled up under a blanket watching the waves roll across the sand. 

The horizon is a blank, empty sea in shades of grey. Half of you hopes someone will show up this time, the other half tells you you want the peace maintained.

It’s later in the day, the sun starting to set in the distance, when the magic of the island ripples, an alert that a living creature has landed on the shore. You set off immediately, allowing the island to lead you further down the beach. It’s several minutes before you finally get there and you’re soaked and chilled to the bone when you do. A cursory scan of the beach reveals nothing, and for a moment you think they’ve moved on already. But upon a second, slower inspection, you spy something.

In the water, sprawled on a piece of ragged driftwood, is a man.

As you wander up to him, you fear he might already be dead. The waxy, water-logged paleness of his skin makes him look like a corpse, and it takes a moment for you to finally make out the faint rise and fall of his chest. His breathing is rapid, uneven, and shallow and you worry he won’t make it through the next ten minutes, let alone the night. 

As you set about preparing to move him, a soft, unfamiliar cooing sounds in your ears, just before a pigeon settles on your shoulder.

“We don’t have pigeons here,” you ponder aloud, pausing in your ministrations for a moment to examine the bird. “Did you come with him?” you ask, gesturing to the unconscious man.

In an unsettling imitation of a human, he cocks his head and nods.

You hum once before turning back to your strange new patient. It takes only a few minutes and a wave of your hand to get him into the house. It’s already expanded inside, a new room appearing adjoining the living room without your input into it.

Settling your guest in bed, you begin to gather the items necessary to heal his wounds. Other than the massive scar on his back, his injuries are minimal. At worst, he had been battered by the sea, sustaining multiple contusions and numerous cuts and scratches. He was one lucky bastard to have avoided any broken bones.

Throughout the entire time you’re treating the man, the pigeon sits upon your shoulder without a peep, and doesn’t seem inclined to give you any information on either himself or his master.

This set off alarm bells in the back of your mind, but you push it down. At worst, you would need to kick him out of your home, still injured and let him fend for himself. It wouldn’t be the first time that you had taken care of an injured person only to have them turn around and attack you. More often than not, you kicked them flat off the island. 

The alternative wasn’t something you liked to consider.

As you stare down at the handsome stranger, you hope that isn’t the case this time.

_____

In the days that follow, you keep a watchful eye on your patient, waiting for any sign that he’s going to wake up. After a week, you begin to fret that it isn’t going to happen. His complexion is much healthier, and his breathing is even and steady. 

By all accounts, he should be awake by now. 

In fact, he should have been awake a week ago.

There’s another problem as well: the island has already jumped from his plane into its own. Looking out the window, towards where the water should be, reveals a thick fog. If one were to step off into that fog, they would simply find themselves on the other side of the island.

This posed a problem of safety, since you don’t know what type of person he is. If he attacked you, defending yourself wouldn’t be enough anymore.

There’s a soft stirring behind you and the pigeon, who’s barely moved from your shoulder since the first day, cooes loudly and takes off, cuffing your face with his feathers in his excitement.

You spin around at the sound of a man’s voice, deep and rich and groggy, saying, “Hattori.”

He’s standing, and it strikes you just how tall he really is. He towers at least a foot over you, giving you a once over that could have made your skin shrivel. 

“Who are you and where am I?” His eyes never leave you, liquid silver over cold steel, and you shiver.

“I’m _____. You washed up on my island over a week ago, half-dead,” you say, moving over to your kitchen sink. More than anything, you want to examine his wounds now that he’s moving, but the chill radiating from him tells you not to even think it, let alone mention it. 

Instead, you fill a glass of water and hold it out to him. While he had been unconscious, it had been nearly impossible to get him any type of nourishment. You had risked water, but food wasn’t an option. It had come down to small amounts of broth and hope that he would wake before he died of starvation.

His frown deepens, but he takes the cup anyway and almost inhales it, then holds it back out. After he drinks his fill, he pulls on a shirt that you had laid out beside his bed and gives you a curt nod. He doesn’t say anything about food, and you hesitate to offer. The aura he’s giving off is almost terrifying, as if drawing his attention would put you in a crosshair.

“Thank you, but I need to be on my way,” he says as he heads to the door.

“Be my guest,” you say with a shrug, following him at a safe distance out onto the porch. “But I won’t be here when you come back.”

Your words, said in amusement, catch him off guard, and he glares at you with suspicion. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see,” you say, waving your fingers. When he reaches the grass at the foot of the stairs, your house rises to its feet. “There are dangerous animals on the island,” you call as it begins to walk away, swaying from side to side. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

The stranger watches the even stranger house disappear into the woods in stunned silence.

Only when it’s fully disappeared and the sound of creaking wood has ceased does Lucci turn to survey his surroundings. It looked like a typical forest, but there’s something that raises the hair on the back of his neck. 

He picks a random direction and begins to walk, knowing he’ll reach shore soon enough.

\-----

It takes longer than you expect for him to find you again, though you aren’t sure if it’s because he’s stubborn or because of your ever changing location. Regardless, it’s a few weeks before he shows up again, disgruntled and filthy.

“Well, hello again,” you say from your porch swing. The house eases down to its knees, tucking them underneath the rest of itself until it looks just like a regular house. “Find what you were looking for?” you ask, barely containing the amusement.

He glares at you as he climbs the steps, coming to a stop right in front of you. “Care to explain why I am unable to leave?”

You cock your head to the side, still gently pushing the swing back and forth. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more clear.”

A snarl escapes the man and he leans forward, grabbing the chains in either hand and snatching the swing to a halt. With his lips curled up and his teeth bared, he commands, “Explain, before I decide to set this island alight.”  
His words, dangerous though they are, are said in such a deep, calm manner that it sends shivers down your spine. It’s clear to you that he can only take so much teasing, and you grow serious, much as you want to have just a little more fun at his expense, you can tell he isn’t joking. “This island only appears in your plane once a year, for approximately seven days. You were unfortunate enough to have washed ashore…” You pause to think for a moment.”...three days before it disappeared back here. You were unconscious for seven in total.”

He curses and pins you with a glare cold enough to freeze water. It’s evident that he’s a man used to getting his way through fear and intimidation. Unfortunately for him, that was going to get him nowhere this time. 

“So there’s no way off.”

“Not for another year,” you tell him, letting your eyes travel over the tree line. Like the coast, most of the island was covered in thin wisps of fog, not quite as thick as at the edge. Here, it was always damp and cold. If there was a sun, you had never seen it.

He’s quiet for a moment, watching you with derisive confusion. When you finally look at him again, he frowns. “You said, ‘your plane’. Are you not human?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ with a smile. “Your world is no longer my home. I can’t leave this island.”

The man’s frown deepens, but he deigns to sit beside you. His huge frame barely fits on the swing, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “That’s why you kept me here?” 

Though he posed it as a question, it sounds like a statement. At first, he had been angry that he was trapped here, but the more he explored, the more he understood that the island was far from normal.

You nod, drawing your legs up underneath you as your companion takes over pushing the swing. You wonder if it’s unconscious, and smile. “That and you would have died had I sent you off. You washed up unconscious, and didn’t wake up for almost a week.” You look over at him, meeting his gaze. “Honestly, I was afraid you might anyway. You didn’t eat anything with me.”

All you get in response is a hum. There’s some curiosity about how he survived, but you feel it might be a bit too rude to ask.

He’s staring out into the woods now and you lapse into silence, allowing him to gather his thoughts. It had been an infinitely long time since anyone had found your island, and no one had ever actually been stuck on it with you. It was a dangerous gamble, given you knew nothing about him. But you would have felt far too guilty sending him off to his death, so you had cast your lot.

Speaking of which… 

“What’s your name, by the way? If you’re going to be here for a while, I’m going to need to call you by something.”

He turns around to regard you, and the smile he gives is wolfish, the change in his demeanor enough to give you whiplash. 

His eyes glint with danger as he leans in closer. Chills shoot up your spine as his warm breath ghosts over your ear, and they don’t stem from fear.

“Rob Lucci.”

It’s going to be interesting, having him here.

_____

As it turns out, having Lucci around is both a blessing and a curse. He’s strong, far stronger than you, allowing him to take over a lot of the manual labor you had been using magic to complete before. In this way, he avoids being in the house as much as possible, and you begin to wonder if he’s avoiding more than just the house. In his defense though, he tended to get irritable if he sat around too much, so you never say a word about it.

The missing shingles on the roof, the noisy door-hinges, the faucet constantly leaking in the kitchen, all of those are fixed without a word and in record time. Unfortunately, your magic couldn’t make up for your total lack of handiness, and it showed when things broke again after a few weeks. But he took care of it better than you could have dreamed.

His favorite past-time, though, is clearly wood cutting, evidenced by the overflowing pile of logs on the porch. It’s a wonder how he managed to do so much in a single day, but it’s hard to complain about his efficiency. On the other hand…

“There’s no more room on the pile,” he says from behind you.

Next to the window, you had set up a second bird stand for Hattori. You turn from feeding Hattori to look at him, biting your lip as your eyes land on the waistband of his pants and drag slowly up his naked torso. Even in the coolness of the evening, on top of the natural chill of the island, he’s dripping from the exertion of cutting wood. It’s almost impossible to tear your eyes away from the delectable sight, but it’s even harder to meet his eyes when you finally do. 

You would swear he did it on purpose.

He’s wearing that predatory grin again as he watches you watch him. There’s something more to it this time though, like he’s daring you to make a move. He’s only been here a week and yet he seems hellbent on breaking you. It’s impossible for you to pinpoint, but ever since he had moved in, you felt like a fire had been lit for him. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing your over enthusiastic heart to calm down. It becomes too hard to think the longer you hold his gaze, so you pick a point just over his shoulder to lock onto. From there, you can see his shoulders rise and fall in laughter as he slips his shirt back on.

“Well, there really isn’t anywhere else to put it,” you say, sounding more hoarse and unsure than you would have liked. He makes you feel like a rabbit, trapped in the den of a wolf and he’s just playing with you before he pounces.

And he was. Lucci was bored, and in the few days he’s been there, he’s come to realize how long it’s been since you’ve had company and therefore how easy it is to rile you up. By the same token, though, something about your shy attraction is appealing to him. 

He’s just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“I suppose I’ll just have to find something else to do to occupy myself,” he says, picking up an apple from the table before heading back outside. On the way by, he makes sure to pass as close as he can by you, just shy of brushing against you.

Why did that sound so very much like a threat?

_____

One of your favorite past times is gardening. 

While you have a rather large section on the island dedicated to plants grown for consuming, you have another area, attached to the house, that’s reserved for the more delicate plants. 

The plants here are what people generally think of when they think of witch’s herbs. Spindly, long vines that hang down from the ceiling and thread through your hair as you walk underneath them, screaming mandrakes that could kill you when fully grown, and prickly, pale, glowing flowers are just a few of the more interesting specimens that reside here. Each of them needs their own special attention, have their own special requirements, and this is where it’s all met.

The air inside is humid, walking into it is like walking into a sauna. Your clothes stick to you the instant that you enter, and you’re quick to shed anything nonessential. In addition to all of that, the room is very heavily magically charged, both due to the plants themselves as well as the magic you constantly sustained to keep the room acceptable to the conditions the plants needed to thrive.

Lucci had yet to be inside this room, and it was the one place you hoped he wouldn’t enter, largely because you didn’t think he would let you past him without teasing you endlessly. Plus the state of your clothes was just asking for trouble from him, and you couldn’t be sure that you had the willpower to resist him. 

It was like he was a magnet and, as much as you like to attribute it to the idea that you hadn’t been around anyone in years, you felt it was more than that. No one you had met before had such a strong presence, nor had anyone attracted you as much as he did.

On this particular day, though, it seemed your luck had run out. Previously, he had watched you disappear into the greenhouse with nothing more than a smirk, not even curiosity in his eyes as he headed out the front door. 

Today, it seemed, he _was_ curious, or bored, and so when you hear the door open and close somewhere further down the room, you freeze, eyes scanning the dimly lit rows for a sign of the intruder. But you can’t see anyone, and suddenly it feels less like an intrusion and more like a hunt. Where had he gone?

You begin to creep in the opposite direction of the door, since that’s the closest way to the next aisle over. Keeping your ears peeled, you hear...nothing. In fact, you aren’t even sure he was ever actually in the room. Maybe he had simply opened the door, peeked in, and left again.

Your heart beat slows at last, as do your steps, and you look around one last time. Still nothing, so you make your way back to the previous plant you had been tending, losing yourself in it. Several minutes pass, and you’re fully absorbed in your work once more, when a whisper of sound catches your attention a half-second before strong, lithe hands slide over your sides, squeezing lightly before pulling you backwards.

You actually scream out loud, unable to hold it back in your surprise. Heat immediately floods your cheeks, and you fight against Lucci, though the only headway you make is in turning to face him. 

He looms over you, a wicked, amused grin on his face as you begin to smack his chest. 

_At least he’s wearing a shirt_ , you think faintly as your hand finally lays still over his chest. It flexes underneath your palm as he laughs, sounding far too pleased with himself.

The heat of the room, the scare, and the proximity to him is too much for you, and your head begins to spin. You lean forward, resting your head on his chest and willing it to stop long enough for you to escape.

“Can’t handle me, _____?” he asks, a deadly whisper in your ear.

Your face flushes further, which doesn’t help your head any, and you begin to fear your legs might collapse. 

You’re unable to understand his fixation with you. Is he just so bored that he can’t help himself? Is this how he is in his everyday life? 

Considering how he acted when he first showed up, cold and intimidating and ready to fight you, you doubt it’s the latter. Then again, it could have just been nerves. You have no idea, not knowing anything about him other than his name.

And that you’re dangerously attracted to him. You open your eyes to look up at him, unable to really focus in your current state, but you catch the glint of his eyes in the dim light. They look almost feral, as if he’s enjoying what’s going on right now and would have no issues giving you anything you desire, if you only ask. 

And it was so tempting to take everything he had to offer you. 

“Lucci,” you murmur, your fists clenching in his shirt, just before your legs buckle.

He’s quick to catch you, hoisting you up in his arms with a satisfied chuckle, although it wasn’t completely. He enjoyed messing with you, because you’re so easy to rile up. But he’s also aware that the attraction isn’t one sided, though he’s faring better in his own than you are. 

You aren’t even aware of what you do to him whenever he catches you staring at him, your eyes widening as he approaches, the small steps back away from him until you can go no further. 

Not that you tried too hard to get away; the flicker of hope in your eyes told him that much.

The door creaks as it opens and a rush of cool air clears your head almost immediately. As soon as you begin to struggle, Lucci releases you, keeping an arm around your waist in case you stumble. But you don’t, and push away from him with a glare. 

“You’re an _ass_ ,” you hiss, weaving around the couch towards your bedroom. You aren’t sure if you’re really mad, or just extremely flustered that you had passed out in his arms, but you know that it’s because of him that it happened, and you aren’t going to let him get away with it. 

He laughs behind you, and you can just imagine the smirk he’s wearing. “I don’t recall doing anything but coming in to find you, _____. You’re the one that collapsed. What would you have done if I wasn’t there?”

Well first off, you wouldn’t have gotten flustered and overheated. 

But he’s finally slipped, even if he doesn’t realize it. You had recognized the bulge against your back when he had come up and pressed himself against you. His trick had done a good job of scaring you, but it had backfired on him. 

You’re sure he can play the game better than you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t play at all.

His eyes narrow, zeroing in on your hips as they sashay back and forth. He’s sure you were doing that on purpose, and wonders if you’ve finally caught on. The door shuts behind you without another word, but he swears he felt a shift in the air, like things are about to get interesting.

And you’ll be sure to lock that damn door behind you from now on.

_____

As it turns out, you don’t have to do a whole lot of anything to entice him further. A new sway to your hips and refusing to give him the time of day is doing wonders to his ego. More than once, he’s come in dripping sweat and wearing his shirt over his shoulder, but you had given him a once over and never looked at him again. 

After the first few times, he starts to grow annoyed, and considers the odds that you’ve lost interest. 

But he can still catch the flush of your cheeks and the sweat on the back of your neck.

When he ghosts his fingers across your back as he passes behind you, you barely suppress a shiver and arch away. And yet, you hardly glance his way. 

He doesn’t like being ignored.

That night, after he gets out of the shower, he decides to push you just a little further, to punish you for your childish antics.

The sound of Lucci’s bedroom door opening catches your attention, and you absentmindedly look up only to nearly choke as he steps out into the living room, sans a shirt and wearing a pair of sweats slung so low on his hips it’s a miracle they’re staying up.

God, had you realized having him around would be so hard on your nerves, you’d have sent him floating back out to sea.

Then again, as you watch him saunter closer, his sharp eyes locking with yours and his lips turning up in a knowing smirk, you probably wouldn’t have. And, being honest with yourself, a larger part of you than you’re willing to acknowledge likes it.

“Feel better?” you ask, and you wince at how brittle your voice sounds in your own ears. It’s a fight to turn away from him, and you keep taking glances from the corner of your eye, watching him approach. 

He knows you’re watching— it’s hard to miss the flicker of your eyes as you fight to focus on the dishes— and strolls up behind you, leaning down over your shoulder so his head is right next to yours. He watches your eyes widen and dart to him before back down to the dishes, and the way your mouth tightens at the corners just a little. There isn’t much more of a reaction than that though, at least not until he spoke directly into your ear, just barely above a whisper, “I do now.”

His fingers skim up your sides, tugging the edges up just enough to expose skin before letting it fall again, his hands planting on your hips. 

You freeze, closing your eyes and fighting the urge to tilt your head to the side and expose your neck to him. Your breathing deepens, the beat of your heart picking up furiously, but just like that, he moves away with a sadistic, satisfied chuckle.

There’s an almost crushing disappointment when he does, but you don’t say a word, just going back to your dishes as if you were completely unphased. That isn’t to say it isn’t difficult, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he got under your skin.

Based on the way he continues to laugh though, it doesn’t work. 

It makes you feel better nonetheless.

_____

One night a few weeks later, you’ve curled up outside on the porch swing with a steaming cup of tea, mulling over the last few weeks. 

It’s hard to say for sure, but to you it felt like it might be warmer than the previous day. Of course, there’s just as much chance that it’s wishful thinking. Still you sit, a light blanket thrown over your legs as you watch bats and fireflies flutter in the shadows. It isn’t one of the more exciting ways to pass the time, but it is relaxing, which is something you desperately needed. 

More often than not, when Lucci was actually inside, the air around the house shifted. It may have just been reacting to you, because you’re sure anyone could tell you were attracted to him. But you’re also _afraid_ of him. He hasn’t done anything, besides displaying a freakish strength, and there have been no outward signs of...well, anything. It was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. It was dark and predatory and it made your heart race just thinking about it. The aura around him-- it screamed danger, like you would be a fool to get too close.

And yet, you know you’re already trapped, in more ways than one.

Relief is tempered by disappointment that he spends so much time away. When he’s gone, you almost miss the palpable tension between the two of you, miss the way he would tease you to the point you needed to leave the room. But you don’t know if you could survive that tension _all the time_.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the creak of the door opening, Lucci’s already immense shadow growing further in the light spilling out. He doesn’t say a word as he closes it behind him and takes the open seat next to you, immediately beginning a gentle swing. Not that he can help it, those long legs aren’t meant to be curled up underneath him. One leg is carefully crossed over the other, his arm coming to rest along the back of the swing, his fingertips just barely grazing the back of your neck as it passes.

The hairs there raise, followed by the ones on your arms, and you look up at him in wonder.

The smirk is there, that knowing look in his eyes as well, saying _I know what I do to you_. But you wonder if he’s doing it purely to tease you or if he could possibly want more. 

Thinking about it like that makes you nervous, because you aren’t sure if _you_ want more. 

You aren’t stupid. He was leaving the first chance he got. You’re already more attached to him than you want to be, the overwhelming tension not doing you any favors whatsoever. You aren’t sure you want the lingering feelings you would have once he left.

“It’s cold out here,” he says, once more breaking you out of your thoughts. It’s a simple observation, but the way he says it makes it sound like it’s detrimental to your health. 

Somehow you don’t think _it’s_ the problem here.

Doing your best to appear unconcerned, you shrug, throwing your head back as if to look up at the sky, but all you can see is the porch ceiling. “It’s not that bad. Besides, it’s a great place to think.”

He quirks one of his eyebrows at you, the corners of his lips curling up that little bit more as he asks, “About?”

 _You. Me. Us. You._

Your face heats up at the thoughts and what could come of them if they slip from your lips. Instead, you shrug again, letting your eyes linger on his for a half-second before they find the darkness behind him. “How you got here. I never did ask, you know. Too busy saving your life and all. So what did happen?”

The smirk flickers and his eyes darken. For a second, you think he might get up and walk away, he looks so angry. But then his face smooths out and he says, “There was a storm. My boat was capsized, destroyed by the waves, I suppose. I don’t recall much after falling into the water. Luck seems to have put me on that piece of wood and carried me to your island.”

You hum, nodding. You had seen the storm clouds quite a ways in the distance that day almost black against the constant grey, but they never reached you, instead heading in the opposite direction.

“That is quite lucky,” you say, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. An awkward silence falls after that, punctuated only by the sound of fluttering wings and the occasional owl hoot. It morphs slowly from awkward to just silent, and that’s comfortable enough for you to drift back into your thoughts, but Lucci breaks it with a question of his own.

“How did you come to be on this island by yourself?” It’s the first time you can remember hearing anything in his voice other than ire or mischief, and it’s surprising the things it did to your stomach.

You grin fondly as you remember the long series of events that had led you here. “I was young, 18 and ready for adventure. I wanted to leave my island and go sailing, to get away from my greedy family, who tried to make me stay and marry into another wealthy family.” 

You could still remember the man they picked for you. At the time, he couldn’t have been more repugnant. Simpering and spineless is what you had assumed, bending to his family’s wishes without argument. Looking back on it years later, you had realized that you had simply been pushing off your own insecurities onto a stranger and that there had been nothing wrong with what he had done. Or his face.

As quick as a flash, Lucci’s image, a predatory smile on his face as he loomed over you, filled your head, and you shook it like a dog with water in its ears. 

Lucci wore the mirror image of your vision, like he could read your mind. You feel his fingers ghost over your shoulder for just a moment, then it’s gone and you wonder if you had imagined it.

“Anyway,” you continue, trying to put your mind back on track. It would do you no good to lose yourself in fantasies, especially not with the object of them right next to you. “Anyway, I didn’t want to, so one night I snuck out. Stole a boat and sailed off.”

At that, he laughed. It sounded derogatory, like he couldn’t picture you off on your own at that age. You frown and lightly punch his arm. He stops laughing almost immediately and pins you with a look somewhere between intrigued and daring you to do it again.

Instead, you turn your nose up to him and continue your story. He only laughs again.

“I was sailing for almost seven years when I stumbled upon this island. The log pose never pointed to it, but I was curious, so I stopped. The witch at the time, Mirabelle, greeted me. It seemed so strange, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

Lucci cuts you off then, asking, “Did you not hear stories about this island from other sailors? Even I heard about something similar. ‘Islands that appear and disappear at will, there one minute and gone the next’. Pirates were always spewing that nonsense. Most never mentioned a _witch_ though.” He leans closer then, pushing a lock of hair from your cheek.

You shiver, locking eyes with him. He doesn’t move back, instead remaining close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting across your cheek. Neither of you move, each trying to wait the other out.

You break first, looking down at your lap and moving back as far as the swing would allow. Breathily and unsure, you carry on, now speaking to your legs. You would swear you hear him huff and, maybe it’s wishful thinking, but you would swear it’s in irritation. “Over the week, we shared stories of our childhood, and I told her about my adventures in the Grand Line. Maybe that was what did it, but on the last day she brought up giving her powers up to me. I had thought she wouldn’t actually _want_ to, that she was just venting. But she brought out a contract and everything. Funnily enough, she left out quite a few of the more important details.”

Even after all these years, you still felt the sting every time you thought about how easily you had been tricked. This time, you’re sure you feel Lucci’s touch on the back of your neck, his fingertips or his knuckles dragging down your spine as if to comfort you. 

You ignore it, finishing your story. 

“Obviously, I signed it. As soon as I lifted the pen from the paper, she began to laugh, running out towards the shore. I chased after her, trying to stop her from climbing into my boat. I screamed after her, asking her why she was taking it. She turned and looked at me and I’ll never forget how she looked at me.” It was a cross between cold pity and sheer, unadulterated happiness. “‘You won’t need it,’ she said. I tried to follow her, right up until my feet couldn’t touch the bottom, but couldn’t go any further because the current was too strong.”

An arm curls around your shoulders, Lucci’s fingers digging into your shoulder as if that would comfort you, but he refrained from pulling you close, for which you’re grateful. You don’t want his pity. Don’t need it, either.

He’s silent as you stew. It had long since surpassed anger at her trickery, or even anger at your having fallen for it so easily. You had begun to understand shortly after the island returned to its plane what would have driven her to do something so underhanded. “I was upset at first, because she hadn’t told me the full story about what would happen, but honestly, it hasn’t been so bad.”

“Why didn’t you do what she did? It wouldn’t have been hard,” he answers, watching you carefully. All this time, he had thought you were here unwillingly, but the way you’re speaking, it no longer sounded like that was the case. 

“Honestly, I thought it would be lonely. And, don’t get me wrong, it is. But there’s no expectations here. I don’t have to defend myself from marauding pirates or Marines. I saw a lot of things I didn’t like in the world and, well…” Your head rolls back, resting on your shoulder to look at him.

In the depths of your eyes, he can see warmth tempered by sadness, happiness tempered by loneliness, and want tempered by wariness. 

“Anyway, no one washed up on shore for several years. The island shows up randomly, not always near civilization. I’ve gone a decade without seeing anyone, more than once. It was almost that long before I finally saw someone else, and when he explained that he was on his way back to his family after five years at sea, I realized I didn’t want to leave, or subject someone else to this. I may not always be happy, but I’m content.”

For the third time, silence falls. Punctuating it this time is the warm weight of his arm across your shoulders, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the sweater you’re wearing. Giving into the temptation, you lean over to rest your head on his shoulder. He had long since stopped wearing his suit jacket, leaving him in only his button down. You had thought his shoulder would be hard from the muscles, but relaxed as he is, it isn’t uncomfortable. 

His head snaps down to look at you, a ghost of a triumphant smile crossing his face, before his arm wraps tighter, forcing you to press fully against him. You go willingly enough, curling your knees up and allowing them to rest against his thighs. Your fingers grab onto his shirt, crumpling the fabric in your fist as your head tucks against his neck.

Suddenly, you realize just how cold it really is out, wrapped up in the warmth he exudes. A flicker of panic, your brain trying to warn you of the danger of being so close to Lucci, flares up, before it’s washed away by the stronger feeling of comfort it brings.

You’re in serious danger of falling asleep like that when he shifts, his free arm looping under your knees. Before he can get much further, you jerk up, pulling away from him.

You smile, hoping to hide your anxiety from him as you stand up on your own. “Ah, ah, I’m not that far gone,” you say, backing away from him. The further you get from him, the clearer you begin to think, and the more embarrassed you begin to feel for giving into him.

He watches you go with an almost unfathomable expression, his face a blank slate; even his usually sharp eyes are like stone. It makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong, like you should have allowed him to whisk you off your feet. But that was dangerous, especially when you already feel so vulnerable in his presence. 

You can only imagine what would happen if you allowed him to get so comfortable handling you like that.

“Goodnight, Lucci,” you say, turning and walking inside, leaving him alone on the porch. Every bone in your body screams at you to go back to him, but you force yourself to continue to your bedroom, shutting the door on your racing heart.

\-----

It seemed like every time you took one step forward, something was thrown into your path and you were knocked three backs. This became obvious to you when you found out a rather big secret that Lucci was keeping.

It wasn’t so much the fact that he was hiding it, because it was his to tell, and more what the actual secret entailed. You very much doubted he meant for you to find out at all, let alone the way that you did.

On the night in question, you decided that you wanted to take a walk during the evening, and found yourself a meandering path through the woods to follow. It was one of hundreds, forged by the many animals that called the island home, but you can’t tell the difference between them. You can sense that both predators and prey used to use it regularly, but that lately it had remained empty, and that concerned you. 

There were very few animals that posed a threat to you, but they were there. Generally the animals left you alone, but even before now you had sensed something was riling them up. It had been hard to notice because there were more pressing matters to attend to at the time, but you would hazard a guess it had started when Lucci had washed up on shore. 

Though you couldn’t be sure because you hadn’t been paying much attention, it was also the only thing that had changed on the island in the last few years.

In any case, you had finally noticed the disruption in the flow of magic around the island, mainly that certain species of animals had become far more aggressive, starting to wander closer and closer to your home. It was unlikely that they would outright attack it, or that they could actually do any damage, but you couldn’t be sure what they would do if they were left unchecked.

You didn’t want to _face_ whatever was causing the upset, just scope it out and determine if the solution would be more involved. Sometimes, the problem turned out to be as simple as an injury, though this time you got the feeling that it was deeper than that. 

Based on the way they lurked around and were attacking each other, you imagined something had upset the food chain. The animals and plants each had their own individual auras that you could sense, and the animals had been growing weaker, although so slowly it had been hard to tell it was happening at all. It had become enough of a concern now that you needed to step in and figure something out.

Continuing on as quietly as you can, you allow the many different waves to wash over you, trying to determine which animals are in your vicinity. You know there has to be one nearby, because there’s a complete and total silence around you that only a predator can bring about. Not even the sound of crickets chirping can be heard, no matter how hard you strain to hear.

What you find is a monstrous creature, and as you approach it, sweat beads up on the back of your neck. It’s dangerous to approach one under normal circumstances, but as they’re now riled up, it’s downright stupid. 

Taking the time to cast a small invisibility spell, you step out into the edge of a clearing, scoping out the massive mound of brown fur in the center. It isn’t a natural clearing, but rather the animal-- a bear, by the look of it-- has tamped down the foliage and torn down the trees to make room for its massive body. 

“Shit,” you whisper, raking your eyes over every inch of its body that you can see. It doesn’t seem to be in distress, no labored breathing or cries of pain, and there aren’t any injuries that you can see. So what can it be?

There’s a snort, then the mound-- indeed a bear-- climbs to its feet and rears up on its hind legs with a snarl loud enough to knock you to your knees. The ground rumbles as it lands again, jarring you further. For the first time, you’re really and truly afraid for your safety, and you scuttle backwards, towards the trees. Even if they can’t stop the beast, they’ll hopefully slow it down enough to allow you to get away. On your own, you had no hope of taking it on, let alone down, so your only option is to run.

You stand up on wobbly legs, only to stumble as the bear begins to charge. The clearing isn’t large at all; it would take only a moment for it to reach you, but you aren’t far from the edge. All you need is that second--

Another snarl, smaller but no less menacing, rings out through the air but you don’t turn to look until you’re in the safety of the trees. Hidden behind the trunk of a large tree, you poke your head out to find a leopard, almost half the size of the bear, with its teeth clamped into the scruff of the other animal. Its claws are raking viciously down its back, its head whipping from side to side, trying to tear chunks of flesh from its larger victim. 

_A leopard_ , you think, watching in awe, _there are no leopards here_. 

Cheetahs and tigers, along with a range of smaller feline species like servals and ocelots, but no leopards. You almost fear for the leopard’s safety, given its far smaller stature, but it’s locked down tight on the other animal’s back, relinquishing its hold just long enough to latch on again and maintain its position.

The bear is writhing in pain, screaming as it swipes at the leopard with terrifyingly oversized paws tipped with wicked looking claws. At last, it fell, rolling onto its back and obscuring your view of the cat, and you’re sure it’s been squished. 

But then it appears, leaping lightly up onto the bear’s side, making a beeline for its prey’s exposed stomach. Before it can make it, though, the bear is up, roaring again as it stumbles towards the treeline in a clear retreat. 

The hairs rose on the back of your neck as you watch the leopard stand in victory in the middle of a puddle of blood, licking its lips like it wanted more. Then it turned to look at you, piercing you with a set of intelligent silver eyes.

Your heart slams into overdrive when you lock eyes with the cat in a moment of recognition. It licked its lips again, taking one silent step towards you, and you turn, booking it through the woods and back towards the safety of your home. 

Though you aren’t sure how safe you really are anymore, given that you had let an animal inside already.

What had been a twenty minute walk out there was reduced by half in your mad dash back, and you’re out of breath, holding your side against the raging stitch there when you reach the house. Doubling over on the porch, you wheeze out what turned out to be a laugh. You collapse to your knees, struggling to get a proper breath in between your hysterics and general lack of air. You freeze when the floorboards creak under you, jerking your head up to meet the silver eyes of your guest, the same eyes you had locked gazes with mere minutes before. 

“Lucci,” you whisper, acknowledging him with a hoarse voice. He’s notably devoid of any blood, but you’re beyond the ability to process what that means. Your lungs hurt and you don’t have the strength to run again as Lucci comes closer, kneeling down and cupping your chin, but you have managed to get your breathing under control.

“You ran,” he says, amusement evident in both his words and his eyes. They’re narrowed, and seem to hold confusion as well, though you can’t fathom why. “Were you scared?”

Well _that_ was a stupid question. Of course you were. 

“My housemate, who is virtually a stranger, turned into a massive leopard without my knowing it could be done, then managed to fend off an even bigger bear _all by himself_.” You couldn’t even take on those behemoths. You aren’t sure if it was due to their size or the island’s magic or both, but they’re impervious to your attacks. The best you could hope for was to shore up your defenses enough to keep them at bay, although it generally isn’t a problem. “What else should I feel?”

“Gratitude, for one thing. That monster was going to kill you, and you know it. If I hadn’t stepped in, you wouldn’t be here,” he answers. His hands wrap around your upper arms, gently tugging you to your feet. You stumble on legs still trembling from adrenaline and exercise, with Lucci’s arms likely being the only thing keeping you on your feet. 

He has a point, you concede as you fall onto the porch swing. It’s chains creak faintly under your sudden weight, but it was in no danger of falling. Like everything else, it’s magically reinforced to remain in place. “I do appreciate it, Lucci,” you say, raking your fingers angrily through your hair. It wasn’t that you were angry at him, or upset at his secret. In fact, you can’t peg what it is that’s upsetting you. “I just...I don’t know. You’ve been here for months and I feel like I know _nothing_ about you, but I’m just supposed to be okay with it. And then it turns out you can transform into an animal. _I_ can’t even do that.”

Although you now at least knew what was upsetting the animals around you. They must have recognized that Lucci was different from them but, unable to discern how, marked him as another predator, and were now trying to figure out a new chain of command.

He knelt down in front of you, and even then still remains at eye level with you. His brows furrow, silver swirling with anger as he glares at you, telling you without words that he’s going to answer no questions, even if you do ask. 

You wrench your jaw from his hand, glaring at the wall as you bite your lip against the furious tirade brewing in your chest. Against your will, he turns your head to him again, his face now wiped of all emotions. His thumb grazes over the marks your teeth have left in your lip, eyes lingering just a moment too long before meeting yours. It isn’t going to be so easy to deter you from your anger though, and you open your mouth, teeth clacking as you snap at him.

He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine. 

“And _I’m_ the animal?” he asks, his fingers tightening on your chin, just enough to remind you he’s far stronger than you could ever hope to be. “I have the powers of a Devil Fruit. The Cat Cat Fruit, Leopard Model,” he says, relinquishing his grip to stand. 

You thought he was going to leave, leaving you with a dozen new questions, but to your surprise he sits beside you on the swing. You sit up straight, relaxing into the back of the swing and are met once again with the feeling of fingers ghosting across your neck, followed by the warmth of his arm.

You would be a liar if you said finding out he had strange powers didn’t sting a little, but you would be a fool to say you hadn’t known. Of course this man had secrets, he practically oozed secrecy, nevermind that he divulged very little about himself, other than that he worked for the World Government prior to washing ashore on your island. Beyond that, you know nothing about his hobbies, likes or dislikes, or even his favorite color.

Then again, you decide, maybe there wasn’t much more to him than that. Like the poor villagers from your home island, maybe he was all work and no play.

Pushing that aside to work through later, you pull your legs up underneath you. The sweat had cooled on your body, and you were feeling the chill as the sky grew pink. 

Quick as a flash, Lucci has a blanket in his hand.

“How did you--? That wasn’t--” 

You take the blanket from him, staring at it in confusion. That had been inside. Your heart begins to race in your chest again as you look up from it to him. He’s staring at you with a knowing smirk, waiting for your reaction. 

“Is that another power from your Devil Fruit?” you ask, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel. That was two in a day, and you wonder what else he can do.

“No, I learned that from training for the World Government. I can move so fast I seem to disappear. Did you like it?” he asks with a sneer. He knows he’s playing with fire, revealing so much to you in one go, but he’s curious to see just how far he could push you before you cracked.

It’s easy to recognize the game, it’s one of his favorites, and you aren’t about to fall apart and let him win. 

“I don’t know if I like it, but it’s certainly interesting.” That sounds weak, even to you, but what else could you say? It’s unlikely that he would answer any questions, even if you knew what to ask, and it’s just as unlikely that you would understand the answer. “About this Devil Fruit, though, can you only turn into a cat?” 

Devil Fruits you understood. There was a tree that grew on your home island that produced one. They called it the Whistle Whistle Fruit. It gave a person the power to whistle whatever they wanted at any decibel. You thought it sounded a bit stupid, but the wielder could do some serious damage if they practiced enough. 

He shook his head and stood, making his way out into the grass. You watch curiously as Hattori takes off, coming to settle on the back of the swing beside your shoulder. 

The hairs raise all over your body, your breath coming out in a rush as Lucci shifts before your eyes, growing taller and sprouting spotted yellow fur all over his body. Just as you expect him to fall down onto all fours, it all seems to stop, and he remained up on his hind legs. Somehow, his clothing remained in one piece, stretched taut over the massive barrel chest he now possessed, as well as the increased muscle mass over the rest of his body. 

Your vision begins to spot, darkness closing in at the edges. You curl your hands into fists, digging your nails in as hard as you can to anchor yourself to the pain. You can hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, seconded by a strange, tinny whistling you couldn’t remember hearing before. As quickly as it came on, it passes, leaving your head spinning and your temples throbbing. 

Realizing you’ve stopped breathing, you gasp, taking short, heaving breaths in order to clear the lingering tension.

Lucci stands out in the yard still, tail flicking as he watches you struggle to come to terms with the odd sight. He was sure you were going to pass out, watching the sweat bead and fall from your hairline, rolling down and following the curve of your jaw until it fell to your shirt. 

But you impress him, managing to force it down until you could breathe freely again. 

Even more to his surprise, you stand, making your way down the stairs towards him. He refrains from moving, even though he desperately wants to see how badly it would frighten you. 

Moreso, he’s curious to know what you’re going to do. He is in no fear that you would try to hurt him; even if you did, there was nothing you could do that would harm him, and you would be a fool to try.

Your skin is still drained of all color as you watch him, like a deer might watch a wolf it thinks is sleeping but can’t be sure. Your steps are light, careful, ready to flee at a moments notice, and he can hear your pulse pounding away, see the telltale flickering in your neck. With his heightened sense of smell, he can also tell that that fear is mixed deliciously with a heady desire.

Unconsciously, he licks his lips, his pupils narrowing as you come to stand in front of him.

You don’t miss the flick of his tongue, already zeroed in on his every move, even though the more primal part of you knows you couldn’t get away even if you tried. It wouldn’t stop you, though, your fight-or-flight already on high alert. One wrong move, and you would run without thinking, more than likely causing him to chase on instinct. It would become a hunt, and you weren’t sure what the outcome would be.

A shiver shoots up your spine, and you can’t deny that the idea of a more _desirable_ outcome, one ending with you pinned underneath him and entirely at his mercy, is a prominent reason.

Very slowly, you reach out, running just the tips of your fingers down the fur on his muscular arm. It’s smooth and fine, not quite soft but not coarse like you had imagined, and thick enough to delve your fingers into, but not enough to grab a handful. When they meet one of the many spots that littered his fur, you find that it’s thicker than the gold hairs, more coarse, but still not unpleasant to touch. 

You frown, running your fingers up and down over the rosette, watching the thick fur fold down and spring back up only for you to push it down again. “The spots feel different.”

It isn’t a question, but Lucci shrugs anyway. The smirk has long since faded, and he’s instead enveloped in watching you examine him. It’s a surreal experience to have someone essentially petting him. 

There had never been anyone that he showed this form to that he hadn’t wanted to intimidate or just flat out murder, and so no one had ever been close enough to him to touch him.

The motion startles you from your fixed attention, and you look up, craning your neck back as far as you can in order to see his face. Lucci was tall to begin with, but in this form he had to be at least 12 feet. 

In comparison to the rest of his body, his legs are downright scrawny and, in another situation, you might have laughed. 

But right now, you feel like you’re standing on a fragile precipice, one that could break at the slightest provocation and send you tumbling down to the gods knew what end. It was the last thing you had ever imagined being shown, especially from someone as secretive as Lucci, but he had seemed so willing to show you, and it would be rude to laugh.

Besides, you were already past it, your eyes roaming over his massive chest and up to his face, roving over a face strangely made up of both human and animal features.

Neither of you say anything for a long moment, your heart still thrumming away far too fast in your chest, Lucci simply waiting for your reaction. Some part of him he doesn’t want to acknowledge hopes you wouldn’t run. The animalistic part he’s more prone to listening to hopes you do, but not for the normal reasons.

He knew, as did you, that if you were to run, he would hunt you down, making a game of it for as long as he felt like it. When he pounced, he would claim you, over and over again until he likely would have to carry you home in his arms.

You reach up again as high as you can, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He allows you to pull him down, following until he’s kneeling before you. Even at this height, he still towers over you, and you have to lift your arms up above your head to reach his face. As carefully as you had his arm, if not moreso, you trail your fingers through the fur from his forehead to his jaw, finding it soft and downy and pleasant to touch. You’re overcome with the urge to rub your face against it to determine just _how_ soft it was.

Tugging on the piece of shirt you still hold in your fist, you pull him the rest of the way down. 

He resists at first, before relaxing in small increments until his face hovers above yours. It doesn’t cross your mind that the position might be uncomfortable for him, and he doesn’t offer a complaint. You register vaguely how his breathing has deepened, his eyes narrowing to half as your nose brushes over his gently. It isn’t wet, but dry and warm. You move on quickly, pressing your cheek to his and allowing the fur to graze your skin. It was just as soft as it had felt against your hands, if not softer.

Your hands slide up, over his shoulders and threading into his hair, relishing how soft the thick, black curls are as well. He doesn’t smell like you thought he would, wearing the same foresty scent of pine and rainwater that he always had. Of their own accord, your arms wrap around his neck, allowing you to press closer to his thick chest.

His hands curl around your sides, almost meeting before lifting you up to stand on your tiptoes, supporting most of that weight with his own strength and clutching you even closer.

“Do you know how dangerous this is?” he asks, squeezing just enough that you can feel his claws press into your skin through your shirt. 

His voice is right in your ear, feral with lust he makes no attempt to hide. 

It had taken every bit of his willpower not to take you prior to this, but the last thread is stretched to the breaking point. One move, one word from you, and he would claim you.

Your breathing hitches, your back arching up into him, and you curl your nails into his neck as heat flares from your toes up to your face. For one short instant, you really believe he might eat you alive, but then it’s gone, replaced by the distinct need to feel him against every inch of you.

“Lucci,” you moan, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, but his ears flick up in surprise. Fingers tipped with razor sharp claws wind through your hair, so careful not to nick your skin or shave your hair that you hardly realize he’s done it until he’s tugging your head back, exposing your neck to his sandpaper tongue. 

It rasps over your pulsepoint, and he feels you tremble in his arms, torn between fear and arousal. Your eyes flutter closed, so you feel rather than see his transformation, and then very human lips latch onto your neck, teeth nipping hard enough to sting before soothing it with his tongue. 

You can rapidly feel your body giving up control to him, unable to do anything but gasp and roll your hips. Your chest brushes against his, your nipples hardening at the light contact.

His lips trail up the column of your throat to your ear, nipping gently before asking, “Is this what you want?”

Afraid your voice won’t work, you nod, eyes opening to look up at him. Instead of returning to you, he shook his head, giving you a teasing look.

“I’m going to need a better answer,” he says, the hand not locked in your hair slipping up underneath your shirt and skimming up your back.  
Desperate frustration fills you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Lucci, yes, please!”

“Good girl,” he whispers. He’s still on his knees, his human height much more manageable, and he leans away from you enough that he could slide his hand up your front. 

A warm, calloused palm splays out across your stomach, pressing gently before it began a slow journey up your ribs. His lips brush yours briefly, not enough to call it a kiss, but it elicited a response all the same. Your lips part, head tilting up to follow him, begging him without words to come back and kiss you properly. 

Instead he smirks, and you realize he had been hoping to distract you as his hand finally cups the heavy weight of your tit in his palm.

Against the tender skin of your breast, his hand feels like sandpaper, but he’s so gentle as he rolls your nipple in his fingers that it feels exquisite. Warmth surges in your stomach, settling down at the juncture of your legs. You shiver as your back arches, seeking more.

His teeth meet your ear again before he lifts you up with one arm, still fondling your breast, like your weight means nothing. You can’t find it in yourself to care, instead allowing your fingers to thread through his hair down to his shoulders as his lips claim yours at last, his tongue immediately delving past your already parted lips and claiming your mouth entirely. 

He tastes of lingering blood and you shudder at the reminder. Your nails graze his neck on their way to the buttons of his shirt. By feel alone, you pluck them open, revealing delicious olive toned skin inch by inch.

You’re jarred a little as he sits down, and when you open your eyes you find yourself in the living room, settled in his lap on the couch. 

He had removed his hand from under your shirt in order to open the front door, and it now found its way back to the hem, pulling it up and over your head. 

His eyes rake from your waist up to your face; his eyes meet yours just long enough for him to flash a wicked grin at you before dropping back down to your heaving chest. You lean back, gripping his knees in each hand and tossing your hair over your shoulder, putting yourself on display for him. 

He likes that, watching you give yourself up willingly to him. It somehow satisfies the more primal part of him that craves seeing you submit to him in every way, but the look in your eyes says you know exactly what you’re doing. 

You’re willing to play his game, if he’s willing to follow the rules.

His fingers wrap in your hair again, his other hand gripping your hip, forcing you to roll down and grind against the bulge in his slacks. Like everything else on him, it was big, and you wanted to see it. 

“Patience,” he says, grabbing your hand as it reaches for the button of his pants. He guides you by the hair, forcing your back to bow more so he could wrap soft lips around the nipple of your untouched breast.

You have to clench your hands into fists to keep from reaching up and pulling him closer. You understand that he wants to take it slow, and it does sound appealing, but a part of you also just wants him to fuck you right then and there. It makes it all the more exciting, though, to hold back and let him lead.

His tongue laps languidly at your breast as you grind against him, eyes half closed as he takes his time. He relishes the faint gasps and whines filling the room as he moves to the other one, feeling his cock throb the longer he draws it out. When you begin to squirm, begging him to stop, he pulls away, pressing one last kiss to your raw, hard bud, and releases your hair. “Those shorts need to go.”

You grip the back of the couch and stand as if you were stretching, pushing your breasts against his chest. As you finger the button of your shorts, he pulls his cock out, giving it a few slow pumps as he takes in the view. You undo it and the fly, hooking your fingers in the waist before pushing them down, allowing them to slide down your legs to your knees, revealing your lack of underwear. They bunch at your knees, and you push them the rest of the way down, bending over far more than necessary, so your face comes dangerously close to his leaking erection. 

It’s as big as you had imagined, surely bigger than anything you’ve taken before, and you kneel down between his knees, taking it into your hands, Lucci’s breath hitching at the soft touch. Your fingers don’t even meet on the other side, and you can feel a new flood of warmth down your thighs at the realization.

Above you, Lucci smirks, able to smell your arousal peak. He watches you without saying a word as you begin to stroke him, poking your tongue out to lap at the pre leaking from the tip. Your mouth engulfs him a moment later, tongue swirling around his head and slit. It’s all you can take, and he groans at the feel of your mouth tight around him, imagining what your dripping cunt will feel like. His fingers grip your hair, pulling you gently off him and up to your feet. 

He relishes the look of confusion and flash of fear, afraid you’ve done something wrong.

He pulls you forward, coaxing you to straddle him as you had before, his cock nestling between your dripping folds. You moan, rocking your hips, covering it in your slick. The friction along your already sensitive clit is driving you dangerously close to the edge, and Lucci lets you continue for only a few moments before he stills you.

“This is your last chance, beauty, to change your mind,” he says, even as his thumb finds your clit and presses hard. 

It’s an unexpected roughness, and your hips jerk in response, your pussy spasming around nothing in pleasure. Even had you entertained the notion of stopping before, it would have been swept away in a rush. His eyes are liquid warmth, watching you with an amused smile as you shake your head enthusiastically.

“Lucci, please,” you moan, seeking more of the friction from his thumb. He acquiesces, rubbing softer circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves, gathering the moisture your body produced up. Your body is torn, not wanting to give up the feeling of his finger but craving him inside you.

“I need more than that, _____.” The deep, throaty way he says your name causes you to gasp. One long finger dips down to toy at your entrance. He has no intentions of slipping it inside you, but he’s more than willing to tease you.

It does the trick, your body instantly clenching in anticipation. “I want you _inside me_ _now_.” 

You’re whining and you know it, but you also don’t care, willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want.

Lucci gives you a dark, hungry look, and wraps his hand around his length. “Sit up,” he says, and his words are laced with so much commanding lust that you don’t even think to argue, instead sitting up on your knees and allowing his head to lodge in your dripping hole. Before you can sink down, he grabs under your thighs, keeping you positioned above him. You whine in frustration, tipping your head. He’s _almost_ where you want him, nestled so deep inside your aching cunt you won’t be able to walk straight when he was through.

You whine as his thick tip splits you open, already stretching you to your limit. Inch by agonizing inch, he lowers you, fucking up into you little by little until he’s sure you can take him further. In your heady daze, you hadn’t considered how much it could hurt, taking something so big, especially since he was sure it had been ages since you had been with anyone. Fortunately, Lucci is in full control and aware, willing to restrain himself for your sake. Though he is a self-admitted sadist, that doesn’t extend to this, and he’s by no means a selfish lover. He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

At least, not unless you ask.

After several long, agonizing minutes, your hips settle down against his, little sparks of pleasure surging from your clit, trapped between your body and his. Your body trembles in his arms, your cunt spasming helplessly around his throbbing length, the only thing keeping you still being his arms locked around you. You’re cradled to his chest, his lips littering your neck with kisses, struggling against the desire to fuck up into the tight heat around his cock. 

“You’re so tight, beauty. You took me so well,” he whispers, licking the shell of your ear.

You’re almost sobbing against his shoulder, nonsensical babbling and begging spilling from your lips, rocking your hips just as much as his arms will allow.

Finally, once you’ve relaxed, he loosens his arms, allowing you free. Instead of the desperate bouncing he expected, you throw your head back, bracing yourself on his knees as you began to roll your hips, taking his cock inside you in deep, slow thrusts over and over. He’s mesmerized, watching the bounce of your breasts, his hands mindlessly gliding up to cup them before running back down your ribs. He can feel the way you twitch underneath his hands, like it tickles, but he’s already past it, one hand on your hip and the other moving down to cup your mound. The feel of his thumb against your clit startles you, your hips stuttering from their rhythm for a moment before they pick up again, faster now as you also sought the pleasure his fingers brought.

You begin to mewl his name, more nonsensical begging falling from your lips in between each call, until your pussy starts to flutter around him. 

His arm slides around, pulling you up and into his chest, his lips seeking out yours. His tongue slides past your parted lips, swirling around yours and swallowing your cries as you cling to him. Your nails leave jagged red lines across his shoulders as the bouncing of your hips become desperate and out of sync, and Lucci takes over, guiding you back into rhythm. The pounding of your hips and the frantic friction on your clit melds together and with one last cry you collapse into his arms. He eases you through your orgasm with gentle rocks of his hips, punctuated by little moans and gasps as you come down.

His hands caress down your thighs and back up, cupping your ass and forcing your hips to move. You shudder and whine, rolling your hips down to engulf his cock in your heat again and again, allowing him to use you to chase his own release. In your ear he whispers colorful praise, growling how good you feel around him, how much he enjoys feeling you squeeze tight around him. 

Your mind is slowly going blank from over-stimulation, but you grip his shoulders, digging your nails in and dragging them up and down his back. He tenses when your teeth meet his collarbone, but it quickly passes as you move up his throat.

“Lucci,” you moaned, pressing your lips just underneath his ear. “Oh _god_ , Lucci, you feel so good. I can’t--” You gasp when he rolls his hips up sharply, pressing deep inside you and pinching your clit in the process. 

Your whispered, thankful praise and your pussy clenching around him are his undoing and he stills inside you, his hips jerking several times before he relaxes against the back of the couch.

Your arms wind around his neck and you hide your face in his hair, placing lazy kisses along his throat and shoulder before settling your head there. It’s quiet and still, neither of you wanting to break the peace.

Lucci’s hands wander absentmindedly up and down your back, enjoying the way your breath is still uneven, your body still trembling from exertion. You had looked exquisite as you took him, and already his body stirs at the thought of taking you again, seeing that wild pleasure on your face again. But for now, he lets you rest against him, comfortable with you in his arms. Right now, he could forget that he was a wanted criminal, a murderer, and that, no matter how much he might possibly, _maybe_ want to stay, he’s already cast his lot with another.

Your breathing deepens and evens out, the steady rise and fall of your back lulling him as well, and, more gently than he could ever remember being, he moves you to lay on the couch, grabbing the blanket off the back and joining you a moment later.

He smiles, an actual smile, when you curl right up in his arms, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and go back to sleep. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t join you for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just part 1. there's one more part to this, which wasn't supposed to happen, but the 2 combined put it up to 17k words lol so i split it up


End file.
